


pull it together (the 'don't ask me 'cause I don't know' mix)

by readythefanons



Series: the Lorenz of Doubt [2]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M, Leonie POV, Multi, Other tags to be added, Slow Burn, Spoilers for Azure Moon, Spoilers for Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Spoilers for Verdant Wind, buckle up we're in for a long ride, eventually, friends with hair pulling
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:08:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 51,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26246905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/readythefanons/pseuds/readythefanons
Summary: Somehow, a discussion about Leonie's haircut turns into a practical demonstration turns into friendship, and then...?In which Leonie does her best.
Relationships: Lorenz Hellman Gloucester/Leonie Pinelli
Series: the Lorenz of Doubt [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1885942
Comments: 111
Kudos: 54





	1. putting the "tress" in "trespass"

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, let's get this party started!
> 
> In case you didn't know, this story started off as a fill for the FE3H kinkmeme ([original prompt here](https://3houseskinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/1608.html?thread=2743624#cmt2743624)), buuut it got away from me and became something else. To read the original fill (feat. Leonie, Lorenz, and sexy hair pulling) please check out the ["get to the good parts cut"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25984840)
> 
> With thanks to the prompter, who probably didn't know what chaos they were unleashing upon my life, and everyone who read and commented on the original fill <3

Let the record show that Lorenz started it. Of course he fucking did. 

Leonie and Lorenz had, kind of accidentally and somewhat to Leonie’s surprise, become… friends? Sort of friends. Friends enough that sparring together on their free day wasn’t an entirely preposterous idea.

They were working on their hand-to-hand combat, which neither of them excelled at (but Leonie excelled at slightly more than Lorenz, for the record). More specifically, they were taking a break between bouts, catching their breath.

“Leonie, why do you keep your hair so short?” Lorenz asked. Leonie gave him a look. 

“Our hair’s the same.” 

“Not true,” Lorenz said, and then said some bullshit about how his hair was artfully styled to something something, whereas Leonie’s was cropped like a street waif’s coifs. Yeesh. “...when instead, you could wear it long and flowing, like that Mercedes or Do—”

“Yeah, let me stop you there,” Leonie interrupted. Wow, what underlying logic could possibly explain that comparison. “Mercedes and Dorothea are ranged fighters. I’m a close-quarter fighter. Kind of different situations.”

“Then what about Hilda?” Lorenz asked. Leonie laughed. 

“I’m not running around in _pigtails,_ can you imagine?” 

“Please focus,” Lorenz sighed. “Why do you maintain this haircut?”

“Huh, you really are interested in the answer,” Leonie commented. “Alright. I keep it this way because it’s more practical. Takes less time to comb, less time to wash, and it doesn’t present an extra handhold on the battlefield.”

“I doubt one’s _hair_ really presents that much of a liability,” Lorenz scoffed. Leonie started to frown at him, but he held up his hands. “But okay, okay, I concede. It’s the job of a noble to guide provide counsel to commoners, but sometimes time and experience are the best teachers.” Then, in an unnoblemanly mutter, he added, “ _Stultorum eventus magister est._ ” 

Leonie rolled her eyes and got back to her feet. 

“Alright, I’ve got my breath back. Ready to go again?” she asked, and gestured to the ring. Experience indeed.

Leonie was proud to be a dirty fighter. On the battlefield, anything that kept you and yours alive was a good thing. That said, she’d never actually aimed to pull an opponent’s hair before. However, once she and Lorenz were grappling on the ground (like common swine, he’d have sneered a few months ago) she saw the opportunity and just couldn’t resist. She got a hand into that (silky, surprisingly nice-smelling) purple hair and _pulled,_ hard enough to yank his head back.

Just about the last thing she expected was for, for her fr— for Lor— for her opponent to let out a heartfelt moan. It was—very loud. 

“What the fuck,” she said into the sudden, ringing silence. “Lorenz?”

“Unhand me,” he said, voice tighter than a bowstring, thrumming with something Leonie didn’t recognize. “Now.”

“Did I hurt you?” she asked, already moving off of him. But, no, that hadn’t been a sound of pain— it— it had—

“I’m fine,” Lorenz said in that tight, strange voice. He sat up as soon as he was able, drawing his knees up and crossing one arm over himself. His face was very red, and his hair was still disordered from where Leonie had—

“You sure? You look—” Leonie didn’t know how he looked, exactly, but he looked _something._ She was looking. His face was flushed, his eyes wild, and he was panting but trying not to show it. His clothes were disordered as well as his hair. 

She found her hand moving of its own accord, drifting towards the noble’s head. Lorenz’s hair was normally so glossy and orderly that the out-of-place strands were practically begging to be put to rights.

“What are you _doing?_ ” Lorenz demanded, and oh, now Leonie knew what that note in Lorenz’s voice was, but she didn’t believe it. It was—fear?

Leonie froze, hand halfway between them. 

“Sorry,” she made herself say into the silence. “I was—your hair’s messed up. I was gonna fix it.” Her accent, which she normally kept under control, slipped out, made her words come out rough and common. She swallowed, lowered her hand. “Sorry, Lorenz.”

“I—think nothing of it,” Lorenz managed. He brushed a hand through his own hair, smoothing it out, and Leonie couldn’t stop looking at how red his face was. “All better, see?” he said, and didn’t meet her eyes.

The thing was, Leonie really did, kind of, like Lorenz’s company. Well, sort of. He was still a pompous noble, and he talked a lot about commoners without knowing a damn thing about them, and he was unthinkingly arrogant and his oblivious abrasiveness could be a bit much, but—well, it took one to know one. Leonie had stepped on quite a few toes since coming here, she knew that. She and Lorenz hadn’t really hit it off at first, but the folks you become friends with in spite of first impressions tended to become the kind of friend that you wanted to keep.

But now Lorenz was avoiding her, and that just wouldn’t stand.

He was bad at it, for the record. The way he disappeared every time she entered a room was not subtle. Ugh. Maybe she’d give him some tips once they got this— _whatever_ it was situation sorted out. Then again, maybe Leonie didn’t want to inflict Lorenz with actual sneaking skills on the monastery. 

First things first.

“Want to tell me why you’ve been avoiding me?” Leonie said. Lorenz yelped, took a step back with one hand forward—oh, no, that was a fire spell he was casting. Leonie ducked under his guard, grabbed the magically-glowing hand in question by the wrist, and… squished the noble against the door. Gently. 

“What the hell, Lorenz,” she demanded. 

“I should be asking you the same thing,” Lorenz shouted back. “Why are you in my room?” 

“I was looking for you,” Leonie said, suddenly remembering why she was here and that, yes, she was technically trespassing. “If I let go, you’re not going to roast me?”

“It was a perfectly understandable reaction,” Lorenz grumbled, which meant she was safe. His cheeks were red again, and Leonie was still half-crushing him against his own door (in self-defense) and was therefore definitely in his space. She let go of him, took several paces back. 

“Sorry,” she said. Ugh. 

“Forgiven,” Lorenz said with a careless flick of the wrist. He made a face and rubbed said wrist. Fuck. 

“Sorry,” Leonie said _again._ “Did I hurt you?”

“No,” Lorenz sighed. He stopped rubbing his wrist and ran a hand through his hair. “Why are you here?”

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

“So you broke into my quarters like some kind of common thief?” 

“I wanted to talk to you.”

“Fine, here I am. Talk,” Lorenz said, and did a sort of airy spin that ended with him leaning one hip against his desk. Leonie, not sure what else to do, sat on his bed.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” she said, and waited. Lorenz was looking at her like he was expecting her to continue. “Why?”

“I have not,” he said. Fucking liar.

“Yes, you have,” Leoni gritted out. “Is it—are you angry at me?” Ugh, she hated that question. Rather, she hated having to ask that question under any circumstance.

“What? No,” Lorenz said, and he did seem genuinely surprised at the question. “ _If_ I were avoiding you, which I am not, it would probably be out of consideration for your feelings.”

“Excuse me?” Leonie demanded. 

“Your feelings,” Lorenz repeated. “You do have them.”

“Yes, I know I have them,” Leonie said. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Well, possibly I thought I made you uncomfortable, and I was trying to give you some space from me,” Lorenz said. “My company is not always welcome, you see.” Huh, maybe the professor’s talks with him were sinking in. Leonie made a mental note to check in with some of the other girls around the monastery to get the latest news.

“So you leave every time I enter a room?” Leonie asked instead. Lorenz grimaced, shrugged. “Well, thanks for thinking of my feelings, I guess,” she said. “But you don’t have to do that.” Leonie saw his body language relax slightly, though there was still wariness in how he was holding himself. “Spar with me this week?” she asked.

“… Pff. Fine,” Lorenz said after a long moment. He looked at her strangely, and she didn’t know what to make of it.

The first time they sparred again, Lorenz was weird. He was edgy and tense in a way that made him easier to beat, and it was worse when Leonie did win. There was a weird pause when she pinned him and then he tapped out too sharply.

But they did it again, another day, and he was less weird. And then again, and again, and then he was more-or-less back to normal (inasmuch as Lorenz was ever really normal). And it could have stayed normal except that Leonie went and made it weird. Ugh.

“Ugh,” she said. They were catching their breath between bouts and Leonie was drinking some water. “Time for a haircut.” She blew a breath upwards, rifling her bangs. They were long enough to get in her eyes, which was super annoying. In her defense, okay, she was planning on cutting her hair, like, that afternoon. 

“I still think you should consider growing it out,” Lorenz said. “It would be more becoming.”

“We have the same haircut,” Leonie reminded him.

“And I am the son of a noble house, whereas you—” Leonie braced himself for whatever stupid thing he was about to say, “Are a pretty, if rather rough-mannered, commoner girl, and there’s no reason for you to run about with a boy’s haircut.”

“Thank you?” Leonie said. Lorenz wasn’t the only one who was working on being less abrasive, and she was pretty sure there was a compliment in there somewhere.

“If you didn’t want to let it cascade like—Lysithea, you could braid it like Ingrid, or pin it up like Marianne,” Lorenz said. “Although I must say, I do believe Marianne would be a heartbreaking sight with her hair down and combed properly.”

“Heartbreaking, huh?” Leonie smirked. “I’ve seen her with it down. She’s very pretty. I don’t know if I’d say heartbreaking, though.”

“I don’t think—when?” Lorenz asked, which really answered everything Leonie wanted to know. She laughed. 

“I bet you spent more time thinking about hair this month than I have all year,” she said. “You have a fixation.” Well crap. Lorenz turned a vivid shade of red.

“...A noble pays proper mind to all aspects of one’s appearance,” he mumbled. Well crappity crap.

“Well a commoner girl likes hair that doesn’t take forever to take care of,” Leonie said. 

“I’m sure it doesn’t take that much time to care for.” 

“Since we have the _same haircut,_ I guess neither of us will ever know,” Leonie said. She looked at his hair. Actually. “You want me to cut yours? It’s getting long too.”

“No, thank you,” Lorenz said. 

“Seriously, it’s in your eyes, doesn’t that drive you crazy?” Leonie asked, and. Reached. Out. And touched his stupid, stupid hair. 

“Why is your hair so soft?” her stupid, stupid mouth demanded. She leaned over and… yeah, she sniffed his head. “And why does it always smell like flowers?” Well. She was already knee-deep in her own stupidity. Might as well keep wading. She let her fingers trail through the silky strands. 

“I use a tonic,” Lorenz murmured. His voice was uncharacteristically quiet, and he sounded almost dazed. Possibly by Leonie’s stupidity. “Improves the cuticle.”

“I have no idea what that means,” Leonie said. Her fingers were still in his hair, and they scratched gently at his scalp. He leaned into the touch. 

“Makes it shiny,” Lorenz sighed. Since he didn’t seem to be making alarming noises or going into a panic, Leonie chanced a look at his face. He was flushed still, but his eyelids were half-closed and he looked oddly unguarded.

“Well it certainly works,” Leonie said for lack of anything else to do. “You have very shiny hair.”

“Mm,” Lorenz agreed (?). Leonie somehow did not stop touching his head. In fact, she went back to running her fingers through his hair. Lorenz swayed into her touch. 

“I think it’s almost long enough to braid,” Leonie said eventually. 

“Never learned how,” Lorenz mumbled. His eyes were almost fully closed now, and he was staring to go kind of… floppy and boneless. Leonie had shifted closer so as to reach more easily, for reasons she herself didn’t totally understand.

“Well you’re in luck,” Leonie said. “I might have short hair, but I do know how to do a simple braid. Wanna see?” 

“’Kay,” Lorenz said, and Leonie never thought she’d hear the polished noble sound so informal. She shifted again so she was sitting directly behind him and ran her fingers purposefully through his hair. It really was soft, wow. She fingercombed it a little, then divided it into sections before starting a Faerghan braid.

He was facing away from her, so she couldn’t see what his expression was doing from here, but she’d be lying if she said she didn’t notice that his breathing stuttered a little as she tugged on the strands. But again, he still seemed relaxed and wasn’t making any especially strange noises (okay, the little… sighs were a bit strange) so she kept going. She concentrated on weaving his hair into a tight, even braid instead of being distracted by any fidgets that may or may not correspond to when she accidentally tugged a little harder than necessary.

And then the braid was done. Leonie tied the end with a bit of string from her pocket (she knew it would come in handy sooner or later), then sat back to admire her work. Yep. That was a pretty decent braid.

“All done,” she said. Lorenz didn’t move. Leonie poked his shoulder. “Turn around so I can see.” Lorenz did, slowly, and Leonie didn’t know what to make of it. Objectively: weird. Lorenz with his hair braided was different from his normal look. Also, it had been a while since Leonie had done any hair stuff, so it was a bit uneven. Subjectively: interesting to look at? Novelty was a thing? And also, he—

He was still flushed, but he was pink now instead of that horrible blotchy red. His eyes were still only half open, and his expression was… soft. Seeing him like this really underlined how poised and posed he normally was. He looked very human.

“Next time, let me do the crown style,” Leonie said, sketching a line across the top of Lorenz’s head. “Or maybe twin braids.”

A few days later, Leonie received a package with a small jar of hair tonic. She’d already cut her hair, but she figured it probably wouldn’t hurt. She tried it out, following the instructions written on the otherwise blank card. 

It made her hair ridiculously shiny and soft. She didn’t want to stop running her hands through it. It felt amazing, damn it. 

So that was how Leonie ended up in Marianne’s room, practicing her braids. What the fuck was happening, Leonie’s life was becoming stupid. She was supposed to be honing her skills to become a top-tier mercenary, not spending time on this… soft stuff. Oh, also Lysithea had ended up in the mix, and Hilda had wandered in.

“This is fun,” Hilda declared. “Although I am surprised. This doesn’t really seem like your thing.” 

“It’s not,” Leonie said in spite of any evidence to the contrary, such as her hands in Lysithea’s hair while Marianne supervised. Marianne was teaching Leonie different ways to braid bangs, hence Lysithea’s involvement. Still didn’t explain Hilda’s presence. 

“Sure,” Hilda said instead of arguing. She was combing out her own hair, which (true to Leonie’s suspicions about long hair) seemed to be taking a while.

“You need to pull tighter,” Marianne said very softly. “When you don’t pull hard enough, it’s hard to get the tension consistent and it comes out uneven.” Leonie glanced at Lysithea’s face.

“It won’t hurt?” she asked. Lysithea shrugged. 

“Why would it?” the white-haired girl asked. Good point. It had been many years since Leonie had enough hair to braid, but she didn’t remember it hurting.

“Tell me if I pull too hard,” she said. Lysithea nodded, didn’t seem bothered by the way the movement tugged the locks still in Leonie’s hands.

The afternoon passed surprisingly quickly. Hilda eventually wore Leonie down enough to let her hair be braided.

“Your hair’s been looking so soft, I really just wanted an excuse to get my hands in it,” Hilda said shortly into the experience. Her voice was cheerful and bubbly, the frivolity turned up to maximum, and Leonie surprised herself by laughing along with her. “And it’s as nice as it looks! What’s your secret, hmm?” 

“I, uh, I ended up with some tonic,” Leonie admitted. The other girls _ooh’ed._

“A sample from one of the merchants in town?” Lysithea asked.

“Something like that.”

“You’re good at picking up odds and ends,” Marianne said with soft approval. Leonie tried to duck her head and got _tsk’ed_ at by Hilda.

“If I lose my grip, I’ll have to start over,” Hilda warned cheerfully. “Oh, no, then I’d have to keep running my hands through your nice hair.”

“You’re being ridiculous,” Leonie said. 

“Really, though, Marianne, you have to feel,” Hilda was saying. “You too, Lysithea.”

“Is it okay?” Marianne asked. Leonie shrugged.

“Go for it.” 

Having the other girls petting her head should have been stupid, and it was. Kind of. It was certainly weird. But it was also kind of nice. It wasn’t the hands in her hair so much as the soft way touched her head, very friendly. They made approving noises too, as if Leonie had done something cleverer than splash some stuff in her hair. It was stupid, but it was all very harmless. It reminded Leonie of being a little kid, snug in the heart of her village. Part of her speculated how long it had been since Lorenz had experienced anything of the sort.

“Have you been sharing that hair tonic with the ladies of our house?” Lorenz asked. They were catching lunch together.

“Yeah. It came up in conversation,” Leonie said. Bless his thick head, he didn’t even blink at the implication that something as ridiculous as _hair tonic_ might ‘just come up’ in conversation. “Why?”

“Our house seems to be on its way to being the best groomed by far,” Lorenz said. Leonie snorted at the obvious approval in his voice. She caught a glimpse of light blue and pink in her peripheral vision.

“Does it enhance Marianne’s beauty?” she asked, grinning. Lorenz nodded absently, staring past her shoulder.

“In truth, she needs no additional adornment for her beauty to shine through, but it certainly draws it out that even uncultured boors might notice,” Lorenz said, still staring. Leonie womanfully suppressed a snort of laughter and dug into her soup. “… Your silence is conspicuous,” Lorenz said after a long, _long_ minute of rapturous silence.

“You have it so bad for that girl,” Leonie said, not unkindly (but, admittedly, not especially kindly either). She popped a bit of onion into her mouth and raised her brows at him. “I saw her with her hair down again, by the way.” 

“I do wish you’d stop insinuating that I have some sort of—inappropriate infatuation—” Lorenz began.

“Is it still an insinuation when I accuse you outright?” Leonie asked. “And I didn’t say anything about inappropriate.” 

“It is unseemly to mock your social superiors, and especially to taunt them with—implications that they wish to see their peers in, in states of undress and disarray—”

“Oh, wow,” Leonie said. “There’s a lot to respond to there. Okay, first of all—”

“We are friends, not just noble and commoner. I know. I’m—sorry,” Lorenz interrupted, one hand raised as if to silence her. The hand was an obnoxious gesture, but there was an apology there. “I was feeling defensive.” 

“Well don’t think I forgot about ‘ _undress_ and disarray.’” Leonie said, enjoying herself immensely. “She was fully clothed, for the record.”

“What are you talking about?” Lysithea asked, dropping her plate onto the table next to Leonie. She eyed them suspiciously. “...Am I going to want to sit somewhere else?” Ignatz was there too, and going by his very red face, he’d probably heard what Leonie was just saying.

“No, no,” Leonie said, dropping the subject. “What did you guys get?” She peered at their plates. “Smells good.” The conversation drifted on. 

“Come here,” Leonie said. The professor had sent them out on an errand—gathering spell components in the woods—and they were on their way back. It was a beautiful day, and the smell of the pine needles was making Leonie feel very at home. There wasn’t a rush on getting the components back in a hurry, and they were watering their horses and soaking in the sun. “I learned a new braid.”

“I’m no longer certain that _I_ am the one with the hair fixation,” Lorenz said, cheeks growing pink. Nevertheless, he approached the place Leonie was sitting.

“Marianne taught me,” Leonie said instead. Lorenz might actually be right, and what a horror that was. Ugh. Lorenz sat a little ways in front of her, head tilted to the side and eyebrows raised. His hair was even longer now. Should’ve let Leonie cut it when she offered. 

“Oh?” Lorenz asked, and turned pinker. Leonie grinned but decided it was too nice a day to tease Lorenz about his crush.

“Mmhm,” Leonie said instead. She scooted forward so they were sitting knee-to-knee. “This is for your bangs, so you face me.” Lorenz nodded and closed his eyes. A part of Leonie noted that, when his eyes were closed, his expression became a little less controlled. He looked uncertain. The rest of Leonie set her hands in his hair and started the braid.

It was simple enough, complicated mostly by the style’s requirement that she follow the browline from ear to ear. She worked quietly, eyes mostly on her work. Her gaze did drift downwards enough to note how Lorenz’s expression became incrementally more open and dazed with each gentle tug. 

“I’m not pulling too hard, am I?” Leonie asked. “Tell me if I am.”

“You’re not,” Lorenz said, pinkly. He went to considerable pains to keep his noble skin from darkening in the sun, although Leonie thought that if he skipped it maybe it wouldn’t be so obvious when he was flushing. “It’s fine.”

“Yeah, you’re tough,” Leonie teased. “You can handle it.”

“It is unbecoming to mock your social betters,” Lorenz mumbled. Wow, so that response was more deeply ingrained than Leonie realized. She tugged his hair in retribution. 

“ _Nnn._ ” Lorenz kept his eyes firmly shut as the—the noise escaped him. It was somewhat muffled, unlike the last time Leonie had been in this position. But. Well. Anyway. That was. She should probably never, ever do that again. Oh, and she’d messed up the tension and made the braid wonky. She unpicked it back to where it was even and tried again. “...Why did you do that?” Lorenz asked eventually. 

“You were being a jerk,” Leonie said instantly.

“Why are you doing any of this?” Lorenz asked. He was still pink, and his eyes were still closed, and his breathing was a little fluttery. He was trembling almost imperceptibly, more of a suggestion of movement than anything concrete.

“I don’t know,” Leonie said with more honesty than she’d expected. “Why are you letting me?”

“I don’t know,” Lorenz said, and Leonie frowned. She—ugh, not again, _stupid_ —she tugged his hair (remembering at the last possible second why that was a stupid idea, so not as hard as last time) as punishment for the lie and was rew—got herself a very quiet gasp in return. Fuckity fuck.

“Anyone ever tell you you’ve got a sensitive scalp?” Leonie said.

“It’s never come up before,” Lorenz mumbled. Oh, he was so red. Maybe Leonie should stop touching his stupid hair. But if she did that… she’d lose the braid. Yep.

“Well you do,” Leonie said.

“Noted,” Lorenz said, doing a decent approximation of dry and not-at-all-flustered. Leonie held the braid in one hand and tangled her free hand in the hair at the side of Lorenz’s head. Because she was watching, she saw him see what was coming and brace for it. This time, when she pulled his hair, he bit his lip instead of making a noise. Hm. She pulled harder. He gasped. She twisted her fingers, pulling hard. A shaky vocalization ensued. She stopped, but kept her hands tangled in the strands. “Why are you doing this?” Lorenz asked, and he sounded very dazed and… open.

“I already told you, I don’t know,” Leonie said. He made a noise—one could call it a groan—of discontentment but didn’t make any move to pull away. His eyes were lightly shut, the lids twitching like he was dreaming. The only time he’d tried to get away was that first time. “Why are you letting me? And don’t lie this time.”

“I wasn’t lying,” Lorenz said weakly. “I don’t understand it myself.” 

“You understand something,” Leonie insisted. Lorenz blinked his eyes open slowly.

“Well I suppose I understand _something,_ ” he said. “But I don’t understand you.”

“That makes two of us,” Leonie grumbled. She pulled. His eyes rolled back this time as he moaned. She kept pulling, twisting and tugging, until he was beet red from this tips of his ears and down his throat. Sometimes he groaned and sometimes he whined and sometimes he made breathless, choking noises. The moans were the most—they were the most interesting. Leonie couldn’t figure out what determined what kind of noise issued from him. She kept pulling.

“... _oh, oh,_ stop,” he gasped at last. His arms were tightly crossed over his middle, and his eyes were tightly shut. “Stop, now.” Leonie stopped, dropped her hands away from him entirely. They felt cold in spite of the day’s heat. Lorenz was curled in on himself, head bowed, back heaving as he breathed. Leonie sat, and watched. She felt very odd, like she was watching the two of them from some distance away.

“Lorenz?” she made herself say. He breathed deeply and sat up, eyes still shut. 

“I’m fine,” he said. 

“Okay,” Leonie said. She still felt strange. “Your hair’s messed up.” 

That made Lorenz open his eyes, and okay there was the unimpressed noble face. The world settled into its proper alignment a bit more at the sight. 

“Is it,” he said flatly. 

“Yep,” Leonie said. Normally it fell straight and smooth, but at the moment his bangs were still half-braided and the right side of his head was a mess. “Let me fix it.” Lorenz gave her The Look some more. It was interesting he could still do that while his face was red and his hair was all messed up. After a moment, he snorted and looked off to the side. 

“Do what you will,” he said. He shut his eyes and breathed a little more. Leonie didn’t have a comb, so she leaned forward again and gently brushed her fingers through his hair. Just combed it, nothing strange, until it laid flat and smooth again. Lorenz blinked his eyes open about halfway through the process, watched her silently until she finished.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YES it's time for some recs here we go. Let's do something silly:  
> 1\. [growth spurt by sfxlled](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20375302). Summary: _Over the course of five years, Ashe Ubert has inexplicably become attractive. This, Annette decides, has got to be illegal._ Reccing this one because, uh, HARD SAME, I had such Feelings about Ashe's hair after the timeskip. This fic is a _delight_  
>  2\. [Soft Breezes & Honeysuckle by imalright](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23150530). A Dedue/Marianne snippet in which Dedue finds Marianne in his garden, feat. _raccoons_. 
> 
> \--  
> Comments are a delight!


	2. makeover makeover (makeover!)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Does this mean that you’ll be attending the ball? Somehow, I imagined you’d be running barefoot through the woods or whatever else you rustic types enjoy," Lorenz said. What a tool.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you ever watched the aggressively weird TV show Clone High, I hope the makeover song is stuck in your head now <3 It's stuck in mine

“You’re in for a treat,” Leonie said cheerfully. She was leaning in the doorway of Lorenz’s room, where she’d nominally gone to find him to join her in the library. 

“What?” Lorenz said. He was gathering his study materials.

“You,” Leonie repeated, “Are in for a surprise.”

“It pains me to repeat myself, but what?” Lorenz said, not bothering to look at her.

“Did you hear who Hanneman chose to represent us at the bird dance?” Leonie asked. Lorenz made a face at her then. 

“No, but I imagine you’re about to tell me,” he said. He was pretending not to care, but Leonie could read interest in his every movement. She swayed into the room and leaned against the inside of the doorway.

“Marianne,” she said. Lorenz froze, staring at nothing, and then proceeded to turn bright red. Excellent. “Isn’t that nice?” Leonie asked.

“A surprising choice. Many people are inclined to overlook her due to her reserved manner, but Professor Hanneman is astute,” Lorenz said. He cleared his throat, still looking at nothing. “Why are you telling me?”

“I’m doing you a favor, Lorenz,” Leonie said mildly.

“By telling me things that are none of my business?” 

“Because,” Leonie said, “Hilda has bullied all us girls into getting ready together. I’ll see if I can convince her to leave her hair down for you.”

“Are you ever going to forget about that?” Lorenz asked tiredly. 

“Never,” Leonie said with relish. “Besides, you were right, it really is pretty. I don’t know if I’d use the word ‘heartbreaking,’ but you’ll have to judge for yourself. Or were you hoping to keep it a secret, something only you—and me, and Hilda, and Lysithea—knew about?” 

“Such beauty deserves to be admired by all,” Lorenz said, and then made a face like he hadn’t meant to say it at all. Haha, oh, boy. He really did have it bad for that girl. He sighed. “Why do you torment me?” 

“It’s fun,” Leonie said—admitted. The obvious question, _Why do you let me?_ sprang to her throat, but she stopped it.

“Hmph.” Lorenz didn’t seem actually upset, so Leonie figured they were still good. “Does this interest in Marianne’s grooming mean that you’ll be attending the ball? Somehow, I imagined you’d be running barefoot through the woods or whatever else you rustic types enjoy.”

“I’m going,” Leonie said, ignoring the weak jab. To be obnoxious, she added, “Raph heard there’s gonna be good eats. Him and me are gonna destroy the spread.”

“Your vile argot does not amuse me,” Lorenz said, with the particular brand of disdain that, in fact, hid amusement.

With less than a week left before the bird dance, Leonie managed to make things weird. Again. By being stupid. _Again._

“Lorenz,” Leonie hesitated. “Are you okay?” They were having breakfast before lecture began.

“I am fine,” Lorenz said, looking very much not fine. He didn’t look _bad_ , exactly, but he did look off. Tired and something else too.

“You sure?” she pushed. This was—what, the second or third day he looked tired? He’d probably gotten himself into another stupid fight with Claude, if she was honest. He looked worse than usual when Claude was in the room, all twitchy and weird. 

“Yes,” he said. “I am merely—preoccupied by my own thoughts. I apologize.” 

“No apology needed,” Leonie said automatically. Weird. He sounded like Ignatz when he apologized for no reason. She—oh. Leonie figured it out. His _jacket_ was misbuttoned. She reached out, tapped the offending button. “Lorenz, seriously,” she said helplessly. Welp, this was it. She was worried about her dumb, stupid friend. “Are you okay?”

“Wh—I am _fine,_ ” Lorenz said, flushing and fumbling his jacket open. He started to misbutton it in the same way. Come on, that wasn’t going to work. Leonie batted his hands away, fixed his jacket herself. It brought back _strong_ memories of helping out with the village kids, her neighbors’ kids and her cousins’ kids and just—whatever sticky, snotted-up goblin was thrust at her by a harried adult. 

“All better,” she said in the chirpy voice passed from auntie to auntie, sister, and cousin, still half at home in her mind. She patted him on the shoulder. “All good.”

Lorenz was staring at her. Uh, right. He was… a grown-ass man (well, almost. Hypothetically), and her classmate, and _Count Gloucester’s heir,_ due to someday inherit control of her village and the whole county. Oh, man. Okay. Well. Okay. Fuck.

“All better!” Leonie repeated somewhat manically. Then, because— _because,_ she put her other hand on his shoulder and tugged him in for a hug. Oh, what the fuck. It was… better than looking at his baffled face? Probably? She patted him on the back. Welp. This was happening. “There, now, no worries,” her stupid mouth said for her.

She was expecting him to—do something Lorenz-ish. Yelp, probably, or squawk, or make an offended noise. Possibly give her a lecture. Maybe overturn his bowl of mushy oatmeal onto her. She was definitely expecting him to shove her off (which she would have deserved, hoo boy) or, or something. She wasn’t expecting him to—put his arms on her shoulders? He was, uh, he was hugging her back? Well. Okay. Um.

“Attaboy, no worries,” her stupid, stupid mouth said. Her hand stopped patting his back and started rubbing little circles between his shoulder blades. Why not. (Unrelated: he needed to eat more, she could feel the bumps of his spine, bluh.) He kept, um, hugging her. His chin was bony and it was poking her in the shoulder, oh, okay then. She—cupped the back of his head, ruffled his hair. “No worries, I gotchu, you’re good,” she said because, well, words of comfort were part of the routine that she’d somehow tripped into. “You’re fine, you’re good.” 

At length (was it a long time, or did it just feel like a long time? A question for scholars to debate), he—stopped hugging her. Good. And sat up sharply, like a, a puppet with all its strings pulled. And didn’t look at her, which was—fair, actually, Leonie didn’t feel like looking at anyone else right now either. He was red-faced, but he didn’t seem mad, exactly.

“Ah—thank you,” he said, still not looking at her.

“Yep,” Leonie said because she was an idiot.

“I—feel better now,” he said, and he did look at her, briefly, and she read honesty and embarrassment (so much embarrassment, ha ha, her too, yikes) in his glance, and well.

“I’m glad,” Leonie said helplessly. She stood up. “I’m getting seconds,” she said. “Do you want egg or sausage?”

“Neither.”

“You’re getting eggs,” she said, and left.

He did eat the eggs, for the record.

And then the dance was upon them.

“Makeover maaakeover, makeover maaakeover, makeover maaakeover—makeover! For you and meee!” Hilda sang as she danced around her room. Leonie snorted and wondered if Annette had written the ditty. Probably not, given that there were no explosions or piles of foodstuffs involved.

The four Golden Deer women (the Golden Does?) were preparing for the White Heron Cup and its attending ball. Marianne had the place of honor, sitting on the side of the bed, and Lysithea was seated at Hilda’s desk. Leonie sat comfortably on the floor next to the bed. 

“Marianne, I know you don’t normally go in for showy stuff, but you have to let me go wild on your eye makeup,” Hilda said. “Please? Please? For me?”

“I, I’m not sure…” Marianne began, then looked down with a blush. “Okay.”

“Really?” Hilda gasped. She beamed and bounced on her toes. “Oh, thank you, Marianne! You won’t regret this!” Leonie observed the way Marianne’s eyes followed Hilda’s every move, the soft flush that she’d worn since Hilda had sat her on the bed and tilted the blue-haired girl’s head up with a gentle hand under her chin. Poor Marianne.

Hilda did Marianne’s makeup with skill and care. Leonie had never had the time to learn all that stuff—even if she wanted to, she’d have been reluctant to spend money on all the stuff involved—but she found herself feeling a little wistful as she admired Hilda’s work. It didn’t transform the other girl into a different person, it somehow highlighted what was there. Marianne practically glowed. Thus, when Hilda turned her gaze to Leonie, Leonie only put up a token protest. Lysithea, too, submitted to her ministrations with barely a word. 

“Now, I know how important that necklace is to you,” Hilda began after they were all dolled up. Leonie braced herself. “So I made this for you, and I think it could really snazz up your outfit.” And… oh. Hilda was holding out a bracelet. It had clearly been made with her necklace in mind. It had a design similar to her dearly loved old charm.

“Hilda… thank you.”

“We’re only young once,” Hilda said. Her habitual shine had slipped, just slightly, and she sounded more—something. Younger, and older, somehow. “And we only get one White Heron ball. Might as well enjoy it, right?”

“Thank you,” Leonie repeated. Hilda presented Lysithea with an elegant necklace and Marianne with a set of hair pins. Leonie saw her chance.

“Hilda, what if Marianne wore her hair down for the dance?” she said.

“Oooh,” Hilda breathed, looking at her friend. Marianne fidgeted shyly under the pink-haired girl’s gaze.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RECS  
> 1\. [Inspiration by doop_doop ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25154848). Summary: _When Caspar learns Ignatz is painting a shirtless portrait of Raphael in all his muscley glory, he wants his own copy. But why does everyone seem to think that’s weird?_   
> 2\. Another poem, okay, just cuz I'm in a mood :) ["Dreaming Boy" by Sarah Kay](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LoIbUF8jItE)  
> \--  
> comments are a delight!


	3. the bird dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Do you wanna dance?” she asked.

“I,” Leonie said, “May be the greatest friend that ever lived.” Lorenz barely glanced at her.

“Nice to see you found your way into the celebratory wine,” he said. Leonie grinned. Yes, yes she had. Although if Lorenz thought she was inebriated, he had another think coming.

“You haven’t thanked me for,” Leonie gestured in the general direction of Marianne, who was _gorgeous_ , “That.” Hilda had recreated the blue-haired girl’s customary crown braids but allowed the rest of her hair to flow over her shoulders and down her back. Chips of crystal glittered in her hair, courtesy of the hairpins Hilda had gifted her. The hair, the makeup, the formal clothing, and Marianne’s usual reserve all combined to make her seem supernaturally beautiful, like some sort of will-o-the-wisp or, or fae creature. A living, dancing light, leading men to their demise in dark and twisted woods. Nice.

Okay, it was possible that Leonie was a little inebriated. 

Nevertheless, the point still stood: Marianne was knock-down gorgeous, and Lorenz (and most of the boys, and some of the girls) couldn’t stop looking at her.

“Ask her to dance,” Leonie said when she got tired of watching Lorenz (and Claude, Ignatz, Ashe, Sylvain, and Ferdinand, plus Hilda, Mercedes, and Ingrid) watching Marianne. “You’re a great dancer, right?”

“Well, I,” Lorenz equivocated. Leonie gave him an encouraging look. “Of course. I was merely waiting for the opportune moment.” 

“Attaboy,” Leonie said. Lorenz rolled his eyes.

“Not a suitable way to address your betters,” he said. Leonie shrugged. Her cup was almost empty, and her plate was clean, which meant it was time for another pass at the food line.

She ran into Raphael at the food line, of course. She was happy to see that somebody had finally found him a shirt that fit. They shot the shit for a while, but Leonie wasn’t super interested in camping out by the buffet so she bade him farewell and circulated the room.

“Ignatz, you dance with anyone yet?” she asked when she found the smaller boy hovering at the edge of the room. She was betting the answer was no. He was practically hiding behind a decorative urn.

“Um, not yet,” Ignatz said, shrugging embarrassedly. “And you?”

“Alois,” Leonie said, nodding. “He’s surprisingly light on his feet.”

“You’re kidding?” Ignatz asked, peering at her. Leonie smiled and shook her head.

“It was just before the food came out.” 

“I can’t believe I missed it,” Ignatz said. Leonie smiled.

“Do you wanna dance?” she asked. She’d meant to inquire whether he, Ignatz, had any desire to dance with anyone in general, but from the way he turned red and froze, she realized it might sound like she was inviting him. Oops. Well, best way out was through. She held out one hand to him and tilted her head in challenge. “I don’t know what I’m doing, but we can make it up as we go.”

“We can’t—there are all these nobles here,” Ignatz hissed. Poor boy was red as a beet and looking around wildly like he actually thought anyone was paying enough attention to eavesdrop. 

“You sure? I’m aces at Rabbit and Fleas,” Leonie teased, naming one of the livelier jigs common across the Alliance. Ignatz squeaked.

“Rabbit? To this song? The tempo’s all wrong. You’d at least want to do, do Gathering Roses or Welcoming Summer,” he hissed. Leonie grinned and took his hand. 

“I think Roses would be perfect. Let’s go.” He let out a surprised squeak as she towed him to the edge dance floor, but as soon as she faced him and set his hand on her waist and her own on his shoulder, he settled. She smiled at him and received a shy smile in return. Well alright then.

They danced—not very well, but Leonie had fun and Ignatz seemed to calm down as they went through the familiar steps. They got to the fun part—Ignatz, as the lead, spun her out and had to reel her back in—and Leonie swore she heard a whoop of approval. That had to be Raphael. She grinned and was pleased to see her partner smiling too.

The song came to an end, and Leonie swept Ignatz her most elegant curtsy (it wasn’t amazing). He bowed deeply—utterly proper, just as polished and well-trained as the son of a wealthy merchant family should be—and escorted her off the dance floor, as befitting a _lady._ Leonie laughed and went.

“There, not so bad, was it?” Leonie asked. Ignatz shook his head. 

“Not bad at all,” he said. “Thank you for the dance.” 

“Any time,” Leonie said. She leaned in and whispered, “But I think Annette is looking. You should invite her. Bye!” and she got out of his way and back to the food line.

“That looked fun!” Raphael said when she arrived. “Who knew Iggy could dance like that?”

“You want a go?” Leonie asked. Raphael laughed and shrugged. 

“I don’t think he could spin me, and I’m not a great lead because I never remember all the steps,” he said easily. “Maybe if they play something faster though.” Leonie hadn’t meant with Ignatz, but okay.

“I think they play the faster songs later in the night,” she said. 

She was lucky she grabbed a bite to eat then because after her little dance with Ignatz her dance card was inexplicably full. Claude swept her up, then Ferdinand, then Raphael (for a fast song). She danced lead for Hilda and follow for Dorothea, and she even got to dance with Marianne, who was looking more like some kind of magical spirit as the evening wore on. When she finally made it back to the refreshments table, she felt pleasantly like she’d squeezed in some training. Dancing could really take it out of you if you did it hard enough. 

“You’re tearing it up out there,” Raphael said. She laughed and added a mushroom skewer to his plate and another to her own.

“You’re not doing too badly yourself,” she said. She’d seen him dancing with Petra, Mercedes, Annette, and Ingrid. “Where’d Ignatz get to?”

“I think he’s taking a break outside. I was thinking of checking on him, but…” 

“I bet he’d like that, even if he apologizes to you for it,” Leonie said. Ignatz had a bad habit of apologizing for enjoying anything, which—she didn’t want to think about it. Ugh. It drove her crazy, but apparently scolding him for it wasn’t the solution. Hmph. Raphael nodded, loaded his plate a little more (to share?) and headed outside.

She was just nibbling at her food when Claude came by.

“You seen Teach around?” he asked. Leonie shook her head. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. 

“Eat something. She’ll turn up,” Leonie advised. He smiled crookedly and—swiped a bite off her plate. Of course he did. “Or you could check outside. It’s pretty lively in here. She might have gone looking for a bit of peace.”

“A bit of peace, hm? Maybe.” She blocked him from helping himself to any more of her food and smiled. “Should I check the Goddess Tower?”

The night continued. She accepted a bashful invitation from Ashe and an unnecessarily hostile one from Felix. She did half a dance with Sylvain before Claude swept in and stole her away. Between her somewhat baffling dance with Felix and her entirely predictable one with Sylvain, she ran into Lorenz at the refreshments table. 

“I don’t understand that guy at all,” she admitted freely, nodded in Felix’s direction. 

“My cousin?” he asked.

“No, Felix,” Leonie corrected. “I offered to move it out to the training yard, but I think he really did want to dance. Scowled the whole time, too.”

“My cousin,” Lorenz repeated. 

“You’re shitting me,” Leonie breathed, staring at him. He shrugged one shoulder and very pointedly did not smirk.

“It’s true. Some generations ago, a Gloucester man married a Fraldarius woman and moved to that cold, hostile land. His treatise on the culture is invaluable.”

“You—you are full of surprises,” Leonie said with admiration. Lorenz and Felix were relatives? What the everloving shit goblins. While Leonie was trying to process this surprising piece of information, she saw—oh, perfect. Marianne was between dance partners. “Ooh, I’m about to become the best friend _ever_ ,” she promised. She caught Marianne and led her over. “Your turn. All the Deer have to dance together, professor’s instructions,” she reminded them both. “Have fun!” And then she left.

The night continued. Petra was apparently on a campaign to dance with every other student, and at the princess’s request, Leonie led them in another folk dance. Dedue looked over Leonie’s shoulder (at Dimitri) the whole time they danced, and Dimitri spent _their_ whole dance not looking at Dedue or Edelgard or anyone else. Leonie very reluctantly accepted an invitation from Hubert, and then Linhardt asked her for a dance. 

“That looked magical, your dance with Marianne,” Leonie said later. “Was it magical?” She was nursing her drink as she leaned against a pillar.

“Are you okay?” Lorenz asked. He was looking at her strangely.

“Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I… don’t know.”

“I’m fine, Lorenz,” she said. She smiled, and he kept giving her that odd look. 

“If you want to talk…” he offered uncertainly. Oh, that’s what was going on. How funny. Leonie smiled and shook her head.

“I’ll tell you later, how’s that.” 

“Acceptable,” Lorenz said. “Do you want another drink and some food?”

“Now you’re talking my language. Let’s go.” They went. Lorenz dithered over the spread (of course he did), so Leonie took pity on him and added some food to his plate. “Here,” she said. “These too, they’re good.”

They left the refreshments and circulated the room. Lorenz’s silence, so uncharacteristic, grated on her nerves. When they reached an uncrowded area (near Ignatz’s urn) she decided to throw him a bone. 

“I kissed a guy tonight, and he seemed really into it, but it turns out he has feelings for someone else, and then the other person showed up…” She took a bite of her food. Delicious. “It was a whole thing. Really threw me off my stride, you know?”

“What?” Oh, he looked shocked. Whoops.

“I mean, I wasn’t in love with him,” Leonie tried to explain, “and when I sneaked out, they looked like maybe they were working it out, which is good, but I really wasn’t expecting it, you know? If he’d just been honest about wanting to use me to get his crush’s attention, that’s one thing, but to be underhanded about it was just unnecessary. Kind of rubbed me the wrong way, even though I know he’s not really that kind of person.” Linhardt was, as far as Leonie knew, not that kind of person. Then again, what did she know, possibly nothing.

“Excuse me? What—?” Lorenz said. Leonie nodded as she chewed.

“Exactly.”

“Who?” Lorenz demanded.

“I can’t tell you that, that wouldn’t be nice,” Leonie said, looking at him with raised brows. What an odd question. Actually—she’d never seen him like this before. He was pale, except for two bright flags of red on his cheeks. Maybe she should check for a fever. “Are you okay?”

“Am _I_ okay? I’m not the one who was—taken advantage of—”

“Whoa, it was nothing like that,” Leonie hastened to assure him.

“ _Used_ , then, like some kind of, of game piece instead of being treated like a person—”

“Whoa, Lorenz, calm down. They’re still in the room,” Leonie said, glancing around. The last thing she needed was to attract the happy couple’s attention.

“Where,” he growled. “Show me.”

“Noooo,” Leonie said slowly. That would be a terrible idea.

“Was it Claude?” Pfft.

“What? No, we’re not doing the guessing game, Lorenz,” Leonie said, and laughed. Of course he would suspect Claude, he’d never really recovered from his mistrust of their house leader. Lorenz looked at her, stymied, before he gradually unruffled. 

“I’m sorry that happened to you,” he said. “You didn’t deserve that.”

“I’m mostly annoyed he didn’t just bring me in on it from the start. I’m great at getting people together.”

“You are not.” He said it so flatly, Leonie had to laugh. The color was coming back to his face now, thank the Goddess.

“Okay, fine, I’m not. But if I’d known what the game is, we could’ve made a good show of it, you know?” More groping, louder and showier moans, that sort of thing. If they were putting on a show, they should have put on a _show._ “Instead of just—well, anyway. I guess it all worked out?”

“Good. And you’re okay?”

“I’m fine,” she assured him. She already had one beanpole noble with soft hair in her life. She didn’t need another.

“I am glad,” Lorenz said. He said it simply, like it was a complete thought, and Leonie supposed it was. She took another sip of her drink and considered her friend. “Was it my cousin?” Leonie choked on her drink. 

“I already told you, we’re not playing the guessing game,” she managed after she finished coughing.

“Was it someone you danced with tonight?” Lorenz persisted. Leonie laughed. 

“You know what, I’m going to throw you a bone. Yes.”

“Well that narrows it down to—wait, how many people…?”

“A lot, Lorenz. Apparently I’m just bad enough of a dancer to seem approachable, and just good enough to make it fun. Dorothea told me that.”

“But we can eliminate the women, since you said ‘he,’ and—gracious, you didn’t dance with both parties, did you?” Lorenz looked so appalled at the notion, Leonie had to laugh.

“Did I?”

“You are a headache incarnate,” Lorenz complained. Leonie grinned and finished the last of her drink. 

“Help me fill out my dance card,” she said, and extended a hand. Lorenz accepted.

“Who was your favorite dance partner tonight?” Lorenz asked when they were on the dance floor. Was this really the tactic he was going to take to figure out the star of her story? Leonie gave him a look, and rolled his eyes. “As if _he,_ whoever he is, would have been your favorite dance partner.”

“He might have been,” Leonie said, grinning He gave her the ‘you are a headache incarnate’ look. She thought about it. “Maybe Ignatz? Alois was fun too.”

“You’re kidding,” Lorenz said flatly. 

“He was my first dance of the evening.”

“Did you talk about Jeralt the whole time?”

“Just about,” Leonie admitted. “And his wife.”

“Well,” Lorenz said. “Fine then.” Leonie laughed.

“Your cousin knows how to move it on the dance floor, by the way, but he’s not as smooth as Sylvain.”

“Please tell me you did not dance with that cad.”

“You wouldn’t want me to lie to you like that,” she said cheerfully. Lorenz sighed and spun her. “What about you? Was your favorite Marianne?”

“I believe we’re discussing _your_ dance partners,” Lorenz said. He was blushing, which probably meant yes. 

“She looked happy. She normally doesn’t smile in crowds,” Leonie offered.

“That’s true,” Lorenz said. He was still pink, but the expression on his face was soft, so much so that it felt odd to be seeing it. “I hope she enjoyed herself as much as I did.” 

“I can’t make fun of you if you’re going to be this honest,” Leonie teased. “Spin me again.” He did. He was a good dancer, and she thoroughly enjoyed all the spins, lifts, and other fancy footwork he led her through. She supposed that’s how it went when you had dancing tutors since you were in short pants.

The dance wrapped up, and he led to the edge of the dance floor and gave her his fanciest, stiffest bow. She curtsied, found herself grinning. 

“I think I’ll let that be my last dance of the night,” she said, looking around. Claude was still dancing; he looked fine. She didn’t see Ignatz anywhere, but she didn’t see Raphael either. They were probably fine and almost certainly together. Hilda and Marianne were part of a small inter-house cluster near the edge of the room. Hilda was talking, sparkling at the group but at Marianne most of all, and Marianne had a soft look on her face. Oh, there was Lysithea, she looked tired. Leonie should try to grab her on her way out. “Thank you.”

“Thank you,” Lorenz said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I stole the idea of Lorenz and Felix being related from [A Treatise on Faerghus Traditions, Rituals of the Old North and Customs of Tribal Law](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20729432/chapters/49248911) by Antartique. If you haven't read that one yet, please give it a look and leave a nice comment.  
> \--  
> Recs  
> 1\. I recommend a nap  
> 2\. [Unaware](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24232810) by Oliver__Niko. _Garters, thigh-high boots, clinging attire; Felix's fashion sense suggests he is after attention and welcomes flirting, however he couldn't be any more of the opposite. He simply believes he looks cool, completely oblivious to how at least half of the monastery wants to fuck him. / The Blue Lions are protective of their surprisingly innocent friend, although accept he must be told the truth of his accidentally provocative clothing sooner or later._  
>  \--  
> <3


	4. midnight feelings jam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After all the excitement, the dancing, the food, the drink—Leonie couldn’t sleep.

After all the excitement, the dancing, the food, the drink—Leonie couldn’t sleep. Ugh. She tossed and turned and punched her pillow and just couldn’t get comfortable. Fuck it. She stuffed her feet into her shoes and snuck out of her room.

The night was cool. As soon as Leonie set food outside her room, she started to settle. At home when she felt like this, she might go into the forest. The guards here were willing to look the other way for students who were just wandering the monastery, but they drew the line at letting students leave in the middle of the night. She went to the fish pond and sat on the pier. The lights of the monastery bled into the night sky, but the stars she could still make out were beautiful.

At the sound of a familiar set of footsteps, she turned. 

“Of course it’s you,” she said as Lorenz approached. He was in sleep clothes like her (except that he could have bought a year of her life for the price of his nightshirt alone, ugh). “Why are you still awake?”

“Why are you?” he asked, and sat next to her. She huffed and leaned back on her hands, looked at the night sky some more.

“I wish I knew.” A cloud tendril curled around the leg of the constellation the Hunter. “It’s nice tonight.” Lorenz looked up, seemed to agree. They sat in silence for a while. 

“Wanna go for a run?” Leonie offered eventually. Lorenz gave her an exasperated look.

“I do hope you’re joking,” he sighed. Leonie laughed quietly.

“Mostly. But if you’ve never gone nightrunning, I do recommend it. Not in an unfamiliar forest, though. Good way to break an ankle or run into a bear.”

“As if you wouldn’t relish the opportunity to wrestle a bear.”

“How great would that be?”

“Terrible,” Lorenz said. She laughed quietly again.

“Wanna spar?” she offered. “Hand-to-hand, or unarmed versus magic.” 

“You are a lunatic,” Lorenz said. She laughed outright. “We can’t fight in our sleep clothes.”

“Is it not in keeping with the highest standards of noble behavior?” she teased. 

“Something like that,” Lorenz agreed. Leonie shrugged and kicked her feet lazily over the water. 

“You looked pretty pleased earlier, but _did_ you get all the dances you wanted?”

“I did,” Lorenz said. He was sitting near the edge of the pier with his legs crossed. Leonie was again struck by how young he was—how young they both were, in spite of where they were and what they were learning to do. (One did not become a top-tier mercenary without getting blood on her hands, and nor learn to give commands on the battlefield without blood spilled.) “And before you ask, my dance with Marianne was simply divine.”

“I’m glad. You gonna marry her?”

“It’s hard to say,” he said soberly. “Marriages between noble houses involve a lot of negotiations, especially if the parties in question are the heirs of their houses. If I write to my father, he might choose to open negotiations with the Margrave of Edmund. If the Margrave is amenable, then a betrothal contract can be worked out… But I’d really rather not write to my father if it would bring personal or familial hardship to the lady in question.” 

“You want to be sure she likes you back before you start working on the paperwork?” Leonie asked.

“In essence. It is a long and grueling process, and not for the faint of heart. Faster to do it the commoner way. Meet, fall in love, get on with things.”

“Mm. My parents were an arranged marriage, you know,” she said. 

“Really? I thought comm—I mean, I didn’t know—”

“You assumed they were a love match because I’m a commoner,” Leonie said. “They were arranged. Neighboring villages. They grew to love each other.”

“I am glad,” Lorenz said, and stopped. Leonie kept watching the stars. At length, he said, “The happiest couple I ever knew was the housekeeper and her husband. They were commoners, obviously. They were a love match.”

“Oh?” Leonie said.

“She was a terrifying woman,” he said with approval. It made Leonie smile. “She ruled beneath the stairs with an iron fist. But when she and her husband were in the room… They always seemed to turn towards each other, like flowers following the sun. They never did anything improper, obviously, but you could see the, the love there. It was in their faces and the way they spoke to each other and the way they would just look at each other from across the room and smile.”

“Commoners have arranged marriages just like nobles,” Leonie said, as gently as she could (it wasn’t very, she knew), “But love matches do happen. The couples I know… probably about half. Maybe a little less.”

“When a marriage is arranged,” Lorenz said emotionlessly, “It is important to consider not only the politics of the families in question, but what sort of message might be sent by the match. Transfers of power and lines of succession must be negotiated, in writing, before any match can be made. Division of lands, allocation of resources, movement of people… to say nothing of bride price and dower.”

“Oh?” Leonie prompted. He sounded as if he were making a report in mathematics class. 

“Each family tree must be picked apart for hints of desirable or undesirable traits that may be passed on to the heirs. Some family lines favor the production of many heirs, and some prefer to invest only in one or two. Negotiations must be especially delicate if there is a disparity in the families’ inclinations.”

“Okay, okay, I think I get it,” Leonie said. “Our arranged marriages are a lot less complicated than yours. We might have money or a business or debts, but we don’t have all of that. We don’t have as much, but in this one case it _might_ mean we have more freedom.” Not that she wanted to encourage Lorenz’s notions about what it meant to be common versus noble, but in this one case he might possibly have a point.

“Dynasties have fallen in the face of uncircumspect marriages. Factions have risen to power. In light of all other considerations, the personal feelings of the bride and groom seem petty,” Lorenz said quietly. “And yet.” _And yet._

“You’re still human,” Leonie said. “Of course you want to marry someone you love.”

“I want,” he said, and stopped. Leonie waited for him to continue, but he was silent.

“You want…?”

“I _will_ be the next head of House Gloucester.” It was not mere future tense, but a statement of intention. “I will lead my house, and lead it well. My family has held our lands since Tiberius Gloucester. The land, the people, everything will be mine. My purpose. My responsibility. It’s what I was raised for. It’s what I was born for.” He took a deep breath. “I may never lead the Alliance, but the Gloucester lands are mine. And in time, they will be my heir’s, for as long as our family can hold them.”

Silence settled over them like a blanket. Leonie said nothing. There was something—Leonie’s skin was prickling, her blood was hot and fast in her veins, and her bones seemed to be humming in resonance. He had—surprised her. It was like, like her body was a bell, and he’d made it ring. Or something.

Leonie stared into the vastness of the night sky and breathed it in. The sheer size of it could stagger her, if she let it. Or, if she let it, it could be comforting. Compared to the vastness of the sky, what was one village or even one county? One heart, one human life, ringing into the darkness, fading away—there was no shame in that, no waste, compared to the depth and mystery of the night. She let the size of the world settle her blood, smooth her skin.

“Well,” Leonie said because someone needed to say something. “I don’t agree with all your old man’s decisions, but I know he’s doing one thing right. His heir’s on the right path, I’d say.” There was a pause in which Leonie may or may not have held her breath, and then Lorenz—laughed. Leonie felt relieved. “He is,” she insisted. He was still laughing, a little, probably more out of release of tension than anything else. “Bit of an odd duck from time to time, but not too bad. I think he’ll do a good job.”

“I am glad,” Lorenz said, and he was still breathless from laughing.

“I’m glad I’m from Gloucester, at any rate. Could do a lot worse.”

“Thank you, Leonie,” Lorenz said. She let her head flop to the side and saw that he had rolled onto his side and was facing her. He had one arm tucked under his cheek and the other curled softly towards himself. His legs were bent comfortably, and his gaze was clear-eyed in spite of the hour. She smiled.

“It is what it is,” she said.

“Indeed. Although I believe your original question was whether I intend to wed Marianne.”

“Oh, yeah.” Yeah, she’d really meant to just tease the guy, not get into—all of this. Oh well. When you were already in it, the way out was through.

“I don’t know. As you are aware, I find her—very beautiful, and I enjoy her company, but these things, betrothals, are hard to predict.”

“Do you want to?” Leonie asked. It was the obvious question, after all.

“I don’t know.” She wasn’t expecting Lorenz to drop his gaze, curl inward ever so slightly. “I do like her, but I don’t know if I want to _marry_ her. How does anyone know?”

“I think it’s supposed to be obvious,” Leonie said. Not that she would know. “Can you imagine it?”

“Oh, I can imagine it. I’m just not sure if I want it,” Lorenz said

“Oh?” Leonie had no idea what that meant. If he liked the girl, why not?

“Can you imagine being married to… I don’t know, Ignatz?”

“Uh, sure?” Leonie said. She could imagine a lot of things, she guessed.

“You get along with him. You’re friends. He’s a kind person, and he likes to make other people happy. You’re imagining it?”

“I… am?” Leonie said, not sure where this was going. Ignatz was sweet, and he did like to make other people happy. As a husband, she expected that he’d be more of the same. Reliable, happy to help, cute in a shy, skinny kind of way.

“How he’d look at your wedding,” nervous and shy and maybe happy she guessed? Not to be overly sentimental, but she hoped whoever was at her wedding would look happy. “Whether he’d help around the house,” Definitely, she’d probably have to move fast if she wanted to do her own share of the work, “What he’d be like with the children.” Leonie’s brain broke a bit.

“Uh?”

“Children, if you had them. Would he be a good father?” Lorenz asked, looking at her intently. 

“I… guess so?” It was easier to imagine Ignatz with generic children, not _her_ and _his_ hypothetical children. What the fuck. 

“You’re making a face,” Lorenz pointed out helpfully. 

“I sure fucking am,” Leonie said.

“Because…?”

“Children? What the hell, Lorenz?”

“So you like Ignatz, as a person, and you can imagine being married to him, but that doesn’t mean you want to marry him,” Lorenz said. “Yes?”

“What? Fine, I guess so. Point made,” Leonie said, feeling unsettled. But wait. “But you do want children, and marriage, and all that. It matters to you.”

“I do,” Lorenz said simply, “But when I think about with _whom_ —” He stopped, shook his head.

“It all falls apart?”

“Not how I would have phrased it, but perhaps.” 

“Well,” Leonie said, “That sucks.” Lorenz laughed again, and she laughed too. Why not?

“You really don’t think about it?” Lorenz asked. Leonie was watching the stars some more. “Really?”

“What?” There was the Hunter, and the Bull, and the Sisters, and the Big and Little Goats…

“Marriage, children, _legacy._ You don’t think about it?”

“Honestly, no? I like kissing, and sex is fun, but marriage?” _Babies?_ She grimaced. “What’s that about.” 

“It is a foundation on which to build a future,” Lorenz said. He didn’t sound like he thought she was wrong, exactly, just throwing the possibility out for consideration. Leonie supposed that wasn’t terrible. 

“I already have a future I want to build, and I’m already working on it just by being here,” Leonie said. That should be enough for people.

“Even Jeralt had a child,” Lorenz pointed out softly. Well, that was true, but.

“That doesn’t mean _I_ have to.”

“No, I suppose it doesn’t. You can’t surpass someone by following in their exact footsteps, after all. At some point you must break new ground,” Lorenz murmured. Leonie—didn’t hate that. “And just because you feel one way about a person at eighteen,” twenty, but okay clearly he wasn’t talking about Leonie just now, poor guy, “Doesn’t mean you’ll always feel that way.”

“People grow and change, all the time. Nothing wrong with that,” Leonie said as mildly as she could.

“Nothing wrong with that,” Lorenz echoed softly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: When I started posting, this chapter was as far as I'd written.  
> Sorry no recs this time, brain is running on limited reserves so enjoy a chapter ᕙ( * •̀ ᗜ •́ * )ᕗ


	5. mouthfeel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I peeked on Marianne’s dance lessons. You will die,” Leonie said. Girls usually didn’t do it for Leonie, but man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> enjoy a chapter! next one's (checks notes) "cause of sorrow"

“Lorenz, I am worried about you,” Leonie said. It was the next day, bright and early. She’d woken him up with breakfast, like the amazing friend she was. “You might actually die.”

“If you were truly worried for me, you wouldn’t be taking that tone,” Lorenz said, shredding his breakfast roll into little bits. He was going to eat every one of those bits if Leonie had anything to say about it.

“I peeked on Marianne’s dance lessons. You will die,” Leonie said. Girls usually didn’t do it for Leonie, but man, she _got_ it. Marianne was hiding approximately seven leagues of creamy white thigh under all those skirts, who knew. Plus, like, a _respectable_ rack. Nice. She thought Hilda was going to stop breathing when Marianne stepped into the room wearing her new battle uniform. Oof.

Oh, and Lorenz was super red now. Excellent. She had the strangest urge to poke his cheek, but restrained herself.

“Why do you torment me?” he asked at length. Because it was fun (but admittedly not very sporting).

“I’m just trying to give you a heads-up, Lorenz,” Leonie said mildly. “Like a good friend.”

“Pegasus blessings,” Lorenz muttered and, ooh, Leonie got him to _swear._ Nice.

“ _Lorenz,_ such _language,_ ” Leonie gasped. The best part was, he actually pulled himself together like he was about to apologize before he remembered who he was talking to. 

“Please allow me to extend my sincerest apologies, Miss Pinelli,” he said dryly. “I was overcome. It will not happen again.”

“See that it does not, sir,” Leonie said severely. “Anyway, she’s in back-to-back lessons all day. Dancer training is intense. I’m jealous.”

“Technically, you’re envious,” Lorenz said, putting a bit of bread into his mouth. “Jealousy is when—”

“Ugh, thank you, Lord Gloucester,” Leonie sighed. “I’m _envious_ she has such a demanding training program. Imagine how good we would get if we did nothing but train all the time.”

“That’s what you do already, is it not?” Lorenz said, nibbling another bit of bread. Good. Leonie had the urge to pat his head, but she contented herself with eating more of her own breakfast. Yum.

“Aw, thanks,” Leonie said. “Anyway. Cheering Marianne on during her Dancer training. You in?”

“Would it not distract her from her lessons to have an audience?” Lorenz asked. Leonie wondered if a person’s face could get stuck blushing permanently, the poor guy.

“Then will you help me bring her a snack halfway through the morning?” Leonie said. He gave her a look. “I thought some nice rabbit skewers or cheese and jerky.”

“You know she dislikes that,” Lorenz said severely. Leonie smiled and blinked innocently at him (well, innocent as she knew how). 

“Does she? But that’s all I have on hand,” she said. Lorenz scowled at her. Aw. 

“Bring her something sweet, you savage,” he said. “I have some very fine peach preserve cookies that pair quite excellently with a delicate white tea—”

“Sounds perfect, Lorenz. I’ll be sure to stop by here before I go over to see her,” Leonie said. Man, he was making this so easy.

They left a little early, per Leonie’s machinations. This meant they slipped into the training room just in time to catch the last portion of Marianne’s training routine. Spin, arm wiggle, bend _low_ , hip wiggle, and— _cast_. Leonie having peeked in on Marianne’s morning training, watched Lorenz instead. He—his eyes were shut. Seriously. 

“You’ll miss the best part,” Leonie whispered. Marianne moved straight from the Dance cast into a dodge into a white magic attack, another dodge, and set her feet for another Dance. The dance instructor was merciless, insisting the blue-haired girl stay in motion at all times. Dang, maybe Leonie should look into stringing together combinations of moves to build up her endurance.

“Leonie, I will strangle you,” Lorenz whispered, still with his eyes shut.

“Aw, that’s not nice,” Leonie said. That got him to open his eyes—specifically so he could give her ‘you are a headache’ look. Nice. On the dancing floor, Marianne—gyrated, mmm, and Lorenz shut his eyes tightly again. Well that was no fun. “Fine, don’t look at her,” Leonie said with a sigh. “But help me make sure these cookies look nice.” She passed him the basket of cookies. Leonie, strictly speaking, didn’t care if the cookies _looked nice_ in the basket, but Hilda liked to talk about _presentation_ sometimes and it seemed like the kind of thing Lorenz might care about. He opened his eyes long enough to start fastidiously rearranging the baked goods. Leonie smiled at nothing, watched Marianne move it on the dance floor. Good gracious, Marianne had a lot of leg. Mmhm.

“Hey, I know you don’t know how all this is going to end up, or how you want it to, but did you ever think that if you married a girl with long hair, you could help her braid it and stuff?” Leonie asked. Lorenz—honestly, Leonie should get Ignatz; Lorenz was inventing new shades of red previously undiscovered by man. He scowled fretfully at her. 

“Strangulation is too good for you,” he said. Leonie once again had the urge to poke his cheek, but refrained. Goddess, he was red. “...I don’t know how.”

“Oh, right,” Leonie said. “You could learn. It’s not hard.” Children could do it, after all. Even Leonie had learned, and she’d been impossible as a kid. Not like now, of course. 

Lorenz opened his mouth to reply, but Leonie recognized the sequence that signaled the end of the routine. She prodded him hard in the shoulder and flapped her hand at the basket and tea. Lorenz, fortunately, got the message.

“Well done,” the dance instructor said. “Take a break. Your friends have brought refreshment.”

Marianne turned, and saw them, and blushed—and Lorenz blushed, and Leonie looked between her two blushing, silent friends and privately resolved to sneak away as soon as possible. Aw.

“You’re making so much progress,” Leonie said, to break the silence. Marianne, still silent, blushed harder, looked at the floor. Well that didn’t work. “We brought snacks. They’re—what are they, Lorenz?”

“A selection of thumbprint cookies with peach preserves made from Goneril peaches and garnished with slivered almonds harvested in Gloucester,” Lorenz said breathlessly, “Accompanied by a fine white tea with a complex flavor featuring warm floral notes, a soft mouthfeel, and a clean, uplifting finish. It is a brew worthy of a refined and delicate palate.” Well. Okay then.

“Yummy,” Leonie said encouragingly. Marianne smiled. Leonie could _see_ Lorenz melt out of the corner of her eye. Hoo boy. “Sit down, let’s eat.” Marianne did so, and Leonie sat with them just long enough to try a cookie (it _was_ yummy), and then jumped up claiming that she’d planned to meet Raphael for, uh, shopping. Yeah. Then she beat feet, enjoying the particular lightness in her step that came from a job well done. Aw, yeah.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started trying to describe tea from my imagination, but then I remembered that the internet exists so I just ganked text from a tea website. I saw the word "mouthfeel" and knew I had a winner  
> \--  
> RECS  
> 1\. [Take Five by northwest_southwest_central](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25680403). _A high-quality board game piece made of precious stone. It probably belongs to someone with a tactical mind. / Claude knows that distrust is part of the game, but maybe it doesn't have to be._ Such a wonderful set of, oh, nested character studies? There's so many good moments, I can't even pick out my fave? Check it out, you'll see  
> 2\. That's it, that's the rec. Drink some water; stay hydrated; sleep if you need it.


	6. cause of sorrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeralt died.

Jeralt died.

There was a knock on the door, followed by Lorenz’s voice. 

“Leonie?” he called, “Are you okay?”

“No.” Stupid question.

A pause. 

“Apologies, that was…” another pause. “Will you open the door?” Ugh. “Please?” _Ugh._ Leonie opened the stupid door.

“What?” she asked. She didn’t care about the answer.

“You missed lunch,” Lorenz said. His voice was weird, all light and careful. Ugh. “I brought you some fish.”

“Great,” Leonie said flatly. Lorenz was Lorenz: stupid hair, stupid flower, stupid whatever whatever. Oh, and he was carrying a covered bowl. He held the bowl out to her. She took it. What else was she gonna do.

“May I come in?” he asked, still in that stupid, careful voice.

“What if I said no,” Leonie said. Lorenz’s face—fell. _Ugh._ Hm. “Didn’t think of that, did you?” she asked. Lorenz’s expression did a thing.

“I suppose I didn’t,” he said. “Please may I come in?” Leonie sighed. 

“Fine.”

The commoners’ rooms were slightly smaller than the nobles’ rooms. Leonie had a desk, a chair, and a bed. He hovered awkwardly next to her desk chair while she sat on the bed. Eventually he settled into the chair. Fine.

He kept _looking_ at her. Less fine. She ate the fish. She wasn’t hungry, exactly, but after the first bite she did have a will to eat. Fine.

She ate. The silence was noisy with unspoken words, with Lorenz’s attention, with his palpable need to help that was as sincere as it was useless. Leonie finished the fish, held onto the empty bowl.

It was awkward.

“Do you want to go for a walk?” Lorenz asked at length. Leonie didn’t want to do much of anything. She shrugged. Lorenz looked disappointed.

“Thanks for the food,” she said. He stayed a little more. Leonie waited. He left.

He came back. He brought food, pickled rabbit this time. Leonie ate half of it. He invited her to the library. She declined. He invited her to the training yard. She declined. He waited. She waited. He left.

Morning came. The sun was shining. Birds were singing. Whatever whatever whatever. Leonie was awake. Bells rang. More bells rang. Blah blah. There was a knock on the door.

“Leonie? Are you in there?” Where else would she be. “Leonie?”

“Yep.” 

“You missed class,” Lorenz called.

“Yep.”

“Are you—” No. “That is. I brought food.” Yeah. “… Leonie?”

“Still here.”

“Will you open the door?” Ugh.

“Not now, Lorenz.”

“Okay.” A pause. Leonie stared at the ceiling. “Food’s by the door. See you soon.” Ugh. Probably.

Turnip soup.

Lorenz kept leaving food by her door. He kept trying to talk to her. And then things got weird.

“Leonie, it’s Claude. I don’t know what you’re going through, but, uh, we missed you today. Also, if you could see your way to letting Lorenz see that you’re still alive, that would be great. Oh, and Lysithea said she’d let you borrow her notes, and Hilda talked Hanneman into letting you turn in your assignments late, so. Yeah.”

“Kay,” Leonie called.

“We miss you, Leonie. We’re here for you.”

“Yep.” She knew. She just didn’t want to be around anyone right now.

“...Okay,” Claude called. Leonie sighed. 

“Thank you.” 

She had a very similar conversation with Hilda. Then Ignatz. Professor Hanneman came to speak to her through the door, Saint Macuil’s teeth. He said a bunch of stuff about grief and the passage of time and how her participation grade wouldn’t be affected by this difficult time. He also called her a ‘very strong young woman’ and used the word resilience at her. Hanneman was okay, she guessed. 

Every other Golden Deer came to talk at her through the door. They said different words, but they meant the same thing. Ugh. _Fine._

Leonie went to class. Professor Hanneman looked at her with sympathy, which was terrible, but carried on teaching like he always did, was was fine. The other Deer looked at her with sympathy, which was whatever. Lorenz sat next to her, which was normal-ish but grated. He kept looking at her out of the corner of his eye. Leonie focused on the lesson. When they were dismissed, Lorenz hovered at her elbow. He dogged her until they approached the dining hall. Leonie peeled off right, towards their rooms. Lorenz hesitated.

“Aren’t you hungry?”

“No,” Leonie said. Lorenz looked distressed. “Had a big breakfast,” she lied. Lorenz continued to look distressed. Leonie turned, went to her room, sat through lunch and showed up for afternoon lessons. She could do this, go to class, talk to people, all that crap. She could do this.

She ran into Professor Eisner and had the single worst, most horrible conversation of her life. As soon as it was over—as soon as it was half-through—she wanted to, to turn back time somehow and skip the entire thing. _Awful._ She went back to her room with the intention to stay there. Leonie was not fit for human interaction.

Lorenz showed up at her door before class was due to start. Fine. Leonie went to class. Then she went to her room. 

Lorenz kept inviting her to stuff, and Leonie kept declining. It was stupid. She was stupid.

Another free day came, and Leonie stayed in bed. Lorenz knocked on her door. She pretended to be asleep. Then she actually fell asleep. Good.

Weirdly, Felix of all people showed up at her door. He announced his presence by hammering on the damn thing and waking Leonie from a dreamless sleep. Fuck. She actually opened the door for him, the belligerent dickhead.

“Spar with me,” he said, and it was so singularly pointless, so asinine, so, so—fuck. _Fuck._

“Fine,” Leonie hissed. She grabbed her lance, stayed three paces ahead of Felix all the way to the training yard. They faced off. 

“Three, two— _whoa!_ ” Leonie didn’t bother to wait for Felix to get to one, striking at him with her lance. On a battlefield, the element of surprise was as good as any weapon. Jeralt taught her that.

Felix recovered quickly, got his sword up in a guard position. Whatever. They circled. Leonie struck, quick, darting blows to throw her opponent off balance. _Keep your enemy off balance_ , Jeralt told her that. Felix deflected the blows he could, dodged the others. Leonie pressed in hard. When you’ve got the upper hand, _keep it._ She pushed him back, and he went. Good. And then—

Leonie was no fool, she was well-trained (by the _best_ ) and she knew as soon as the tide turned against her. Felix was hitting back hard, now, with focused intensity. He kept his blade moving, relentless, never gave Leonie a chance to recover. She fell back, but he kept coming. As he pressed his advantage, Leonie was aware that—she’d eaten one meal in the last day, slept approximately twenty hours, trained not at all, and ( _a tired, hungry, poorly equipped enemy is half-defeated before you step onto the field_ ) and _shit._ Felix didn’t even have to slip under her guard—she stumbled, all on her own. She fell. Felix sheathed his blade.

Fuck.

“Again?” he said, and Leonie had practiced with him before (practiced with him plenty, _good training is worth more than a fancy weapon, and a good partner’s worth more than gold_ ), and this was probably the only time she’d ever heard him ask it as a question instead of phrasing a demand.

“Again,” she said, and ignored his hand up, pushed herself up under her own damn power. Fuck, her stupid knee. Fine. ( _Careful, kid, you only get one body and it has to last your whole life_.)

They fought again. Leonie lost. They fought again. Leonie lost. They fought again, and again, and Leonie lost and lost and lost.

When Felix disarmed her, kicked her to the ground, and put his blade at her throat, it felt like a mercy. Leonie was shaking everywhere, her muscles trembling, her head pounding and the weakness in her blood informing her that, actually, if she was going to _do stuff_ she should probably _eat something._ Leonie closed her eyes.

“...Are you crying,” Felix said, and the blade at her throat disappeared. Leonie kept her eyes closed.

“Don’t be stupid,” she said. Yes.

“Um,” Felix said. Leonie opened her eyes. He was still looming over her, and he looked profoundly uncomfortable. “I’m. Sorry?”

“Yeah.” Him and everyone else.

“I thought. When my brother was killed. All I wanted was to train,” Felix said. Apparently it was Talking About Feelings Time, again. Fuuuuck that. Leonie sighed, patted the ground next to her. There was a pause, and then Felix was sitting on the ground next to her. Leonie closed her eyes again.

“Thank you for the match,” Leonie said, or tried to. Tears were still happening, so it was hard to form the words. Whatever.

“I—there’s nothing I can say or do to make this better,” Felix said, which novel in its honesty at least. “But I am sorry.” Leonie was the recipient of the single most awkward shoulder pat of her life. “There are people,” Felix said, each word pried out like a tooth, “Who care about you. And they. Want to be here. For you.” In a disgruntled mutter, he added, “Even if they’re idiots and don’t know how.” Leonie couldn’t help it; she snorted.

“And Jeralt wouldn’t want me to be sad?” she sneered, through snot and a thick throat and uncooperative lungs. “He would want me to, to buck up and pull together and, and, be happy and— _learn_ from his death like I learned from him in life?”

“Wow,” Felix said, and his whole tone was saying _no_. Good. “Uh. Maybe?”

“Fuck that,” Leonie said, as clearly as she could. Felix sighed, muttered something like ‘good.’ “Fuck all of that.”

“Fuck that,” Felix agreed vehemently, and Leonie—laughed. Yay, feelings. Crying to laughing in zero seconds. Ugh. 

They spent a—considerable amount of time loudly shouting ‘fuck’ in the middle of the monastery. Nice.

When the—whatever, humor, or delirium, or something—wore off, Leonie was sitting up, arms looped around her legs.

“Fight me again,” she said.

“You mean wipe the floor with you without breaking a sweat again? Don’t waste my time,” he said. Leonie slugged him in the arm. Asshole. “You hit like a girl.”

“Your _professor’s_ a girl.” She was _Leonie’s age_ , curse it all, and she was already—a mercenary in her own right, with a reputation to respect, with—Fuck. Move on, Leonie, ugh. _Ugh._

“She hits like a woman,” Felix sneered. “Go eat something and come back when you can too.”

“You,” Leonie said, pushing herself to her feet. “Are the worst.” Felix looked like he was gearing up to let loose another insult, so she cut inside his guard. “Thanks.” 

“Uh,” he said. Yeah, that worked. Stupid boy wasn’t expecting a _thank you,_ was he? He looked flustered, and mad about it. “Yeah. Don’t mention it.”

“I won’t,” she said, and gathered her lance and left. The dining hall should still be open. She stopped by her room on the way there, to drop off said lance. There was a bowl of fish stew by her door. She looked at it. She liked fish stew. It was another one of her favorites.

She almost spilled the stuff on herself trying to carry it up the stairs, but she did it. Bowl in hand, she knocked on Lorenz’s door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry, Leonie. It's gonna get better, but first... next chapter: To War  
> -  
> RECS  
> 1\. [As Favours of Their Loves](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26332621) by nonisland. Feat. Leonie and Lorenz's handkerchief. _Five years is a long time. Leonie does some thinking, gets some training, goes home again and leaves again, and finds her way back to Garreg Mach._  
>  2\. [Wanting](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25880284) by oneletterdiff. _The night before Edelgard invades Garreg Mach, Ingrid comes to Sylvain with a request._  
>  3\. You can also read [twitterpated](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26673637), which I wrote specifically because I wanted something silly and cheerful and self-indulgent. Leonie/Lorenz, modern college AU, birding.  
> 


	7. can't catch a break

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Man, stuff just kept _happening._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i live! o(｀^´*)  
> this chapter: technically spoilers for end of academy phase.

Man, shit just kept _happening._ Leonie wasn’t normally one for sitting still (except lately, lots of sitting and staring into nothing lately), but could they, collectively, catch a fucking break? No? Well. Okay then.

For the Guardian Moon, Hanneman guided the Golden Deer through some sort of, Leonie didn’t know, shitty desert to grab some shitty book. Leonie didn’t give a damn, but she showed up. (Hooray.) Hanneman was intense about it, but he had a boner for weird magic so that figured. Lysithea was being very intense about it, which wasn’t weird, but was trying to hide it, which was weird. Leonie didn’t know what that was about but sometimes it was hard to care about things. Whoops. Anyway. About half their group was really into the library quest, and the other half (including Leonie) was along for the ride, and that’s just how it was. Get in, beat up some creepy guys in creepy robes, get out with a creepy magical tome and a large, creepy quantity of creepy notes. Whatever.

They got back to the monastery (no deaths), some time passed, more shit happened… the Blue Lions (and Claude and Lysithea) went off to do some bullshit. Professor Eisner came back with green hair. Okay. (Lysithea, always pale, was white in the face when they got back, and she was so tense she was going to bust all her tendons. Leonie didn’t know what it meant, but it probably meant something. Jeralt would probably have known.) 

And _then_ , well—the next fucking month the Blue Lions had another bullshit mission. (Meanwhile, the Golden Deer were collecting mushrooms in a creepy forest. There were huge dog things. Bitey dickheads.) The stupid Lions got into some shitshow in some secret underground tomb (yeah, apparently that was a thing. Leonie just—couldn’t, even if she wanted to) and then it turned out Edelgard was the creepy dude called the Flame Emperor. Shit.

So anyway, the Imperial Army was marching on Garreg Mach and they had two weeks to prepare or whatever. Could they collectively please catch a break.

“You—are—a— _coward!_ ” Lysithea bellowed. Lysithea wasn’t a shouting person, but holy hell, what the everloving shit biscuits. She had some good pipes on her.

“Fuck you, I meant what I said,” Hilda shouted right back. “If you were are smart as you think you are, you would too!” They sounded close to tears. Leonie—ran, took the stairs, ended up in—Hilda’s room. Hilda was packing. Lysithea was standing in the middle of the room, arms crossed. Marianne was standing next to the door, face drawn. Lysithea looked furious, and her cheeks were wet, and when Hilda turned to see who had joined them, she was crying too. Fucking nope. Shit. “Now what, you’re here to, to call me a coward too?”

Leonie really, really didn’t have the—the—she couldn’t. She was already so—tired, about Jeralt, and there was something weird going on with his kid, and Claude was making himself sick over her, and Dimitri was unhinged, apparently, and Edelgard had _an army marching on the monastery_ , and Leonie—was tired, and furious, and helpless, and, and. She couldn’t do this now. Maybe she never could have. She certainly didn’t have it in her now.

Hilda and Lysithea were crying. Marianne looked like she was going to hyperventilate.

“Maybe—begin at the beginning?” Leonie said weakly.

“Hilda is leaving,” Lysithea spat. “She’s _running away._ ”

“What?” Leonie said.

“I’m not dying in some, some—doomed last stand,” Hilda shot back. She was shoving rumpled clothes into a trunk. “There’s an _army_ marching on us, and we have—what, twenty students and a handful of knights? Have you ever _seen_ an army, Lysithea? Because I have, and—”

“Oh, yes, tell us about your _brother,_ ” Lysithea seethed. “Tell us all about the famed General Holt, and how he loves you, and you’re _tired_ of him—”

“It’s _Holst,_ ” Hilda screamed. She whirled, wrenched open a drawer, dumped its contents into the trunk. “You know it’s Holst, you—”

“I had brothers, Hilda. I had _three_ : Baius, Dorus, and Tycho. And sisters, Naia and Mellinoe. There were _six_ of us, and I am the only one left. What does that tell you?”

“It tells me we should run, all of us. It tells me that it’s—it’s _insane_ and irresponsible for them to keep us here, and they should be _evacuating us,_ not sacrificing us on the altar of, of the Church of Seiros.” 

“The war won’t stop,” Lysithea insisted. “If it doesn’t stop now—if _we_ don’t stop it, it’ll roll right over us, right into all our homes. Nowhere will be safe, there won’t be anywhere to run to.”

“You don’t know that,” Hilda snapped back. “Goneril is—”

“ _Goneril_ can try being stuck between two hostile powers, and see how it likes it,” Lysithea looked—terrified and dangerous. “House Ordelia wishes you well.” Lysithea stormed out, shoving her way past Leonie. Hilda looked to Marianne, eyes blotchy, makeup running. 

“Come with me,” Hilda begged. Her voice was a ragged, broken thing, and Marianne—was crying silently, hands clasped tightly before her. Somehow, in the middle of all this, this heartbreak, Leonie found another way to hurt at how silently Marianne cried. It was unnatural, an acquired skill. Her shoulders weren’t even hitching. “Please, Mari, come with me. Don’t—don’t stay here. Don’t make me _lose_ you—” Hilda extended her hands, reaching—

Leonie held her breath. Marianne—backed away.

“I—I have to think—I—” Marianne whispered. She whirled, almost ran into Leonie as she bolted out the door. Hilda, strong, glittering, cheerful Hilda—crumbled, ended up curled on the ground, sobbing. Leonie dropped to her knees next to her, didn’t know what to do.

“Hilda…” she said, putting her hand on one shaking shoulder. 

“Leave me alone,” Hilda sobbed, flinching away. “I don’t—want to hear it—”

“Hilda,” Leonie said again, helpless. She stayed next to her friend, hands in her lap. She took a deep breath, tried to think—she didn’t know what to do, but, well, she was here so— “I don’t think you’re a coward,” she said, so quietly she wasn’t sure Hilda would be able to hear, voice grinding and catching. “You are smart, and you—have a right to do what you’re planning.” If anything, Hilda sobbed harder. Leonie took a chance, laid a hand on the other girl’s shoulder again. This time Hilda lunged towards her, latched onto her and cried, cried, cried. Leonie wrapped her arms around her, tried to think. “I don’t think you’re a coward, and if you’re going to go—you need to leave soon. Right away, and you—” oh, “We should see if, if any of the servants want to send their kids with you, see if you can get them away.” It was one thing to ask the students, the soldiers, and even the pages and squires to stay, but the cook’s children, and the fishkeeper’s boy— “We love you, Hilda, we—” _need you, could use you, don’t want to die either,_ “We will always love you, o-okay, and, and, nothing will change that. Okay?”

“The dead can’t love anyone,” Hilda said thickly, and, ouch, that was true, but—

“You need to get ready,” Leonie said. “Leave everything but what you’ll need for the road, okay, you’ll get farther if you travel _light._ ”

“I need to talk to Marianne,” Hilda whispered. “I, I need—I can’t lose her, and she’s been hurt so much—”

“Pack first,” Leonie said. She didn’t know what Marianne was going to do, and—oh, they needed her, needed both of them, their healer and heavy-hitter, but—“Pack first, let her calm down, then talk to her.” Hilda nodded, sat up, wiped her eyes. Her makeup was everywhere but where it was supposed to be, and she was still crying.

“You will always have a home in Goneril,” Hilda said fiercely. “Anything. A room, _quarters,_ a place to stay—as long as you need. No questions asked.” Leonie tried to smile, failed, put her hands on either side of Hilda’s face and pressed their foreheads together. 

“And you can always find a friend in Sauin Village,” she said. “Come see how the other half lives, assuming I survive.”

“Live, please,” Hilda whispered. “Keep them alive, whatever it takes, take care of Claude, and make sure Lorenz and Raphael rest once in a while, and, and Ignatz and—and _Lysithea_.” She was sobbing again. “I’m—I’m sorry.”

“Pack,” Leonie said. “Pack, and—I’ll look for Seteth, or someone, don’t leave without finding me, okay, because—”

“Kids, I remember,” Hilda said. She leaned back, took a shaky breath. Wiped her still-streaming eyes. “I’m awful with kids, so this will be an adventure.”

“So much fun,” Leonie joked weakly. She wiped her own eyes, and her nose for good measure. Gross. At least she didn’t have makeup to smear like Hilda. 

Somehow, she found Seteth. He was busy, but—he looked at her and made time, somehow, for her. _Goddess._ He listened seriously, nodded when she was done, summoned one of the secretaries and spoke _very softly_ but intensely in the man’s ear for a long minute. The man nodded, disappeared around a corner. Seteth set a hand on Leonie’s shoulder.

“Keep this quiet, we don’t want to make a fuss,” Seteth said. “But we’ll do it. Where is Hilda?”

“Her room,” Leonie whispered. Seteth nodded and left. He looked so tired.

She drifted, ended up in the hubbub near one of the storage areas. There were weapons and armor to inventory, for distribution and repairs. After that there were linens to lay out and cut into strips for bandages, and Leonie signed herself up for collecting spell components in the woods, and was looking around for something else to do—

“Leonie,” a voice hissed. Hilda was standing by a corner. She had a set of saddlebags, a shoulder pack, and a big, plain cloak. She was dressed like a servant, and her hair was covered. With her was the fishkeeper’s boy Kip, and—Marianne, dressed the same as Hilda. Leonie went, let Kip draw them into the space between buildings. “We’re going,” Hilda said. “Before nightfall. There’s a—we’re going out a hidden way.” Hilda and Marianne were holding hands. It would have made Leonie—smile, probably, or feel _something_ at another time. Now, she just observed that their knuckles were white. “Thank you.”

“Be careful,” Leonie said. She looked at Kip. She didn’t know him at all, not really, but she’d heard his father’s stories and knew he was clever. “Be watchful. There’s plenty of dangers out there, too.” Bandits, beasts, patrols, spies— She looked back at the two women. “Stay away from people, if you can. Some of the kids will have woodcraft, so don’t be afraid to ask them for help.”

“I’m no stranger to the woods either,” Marianne said softly. She caught Leonie’s hand, kissed it, pressed it to her cheek. “We’ll be careful. Thank you. I hope it’s—Goddess protect you and keep you, all of you.” Impossibly, she looked—Leonie didn’t know. Something. Her eyes, always shadowed, had a light shining behind them, bright and determined.

“And you,” Leonie said. Marianne let go of her hand, and Leonie had to fight not to feel—preemptive loss. To Kip, she said, “They’re going to need help, especially with the other kids, so don’t be afraid to speak up.” He grinned crookedly, nodded. Well okay then. “Take care, stay safe.” She pulled them into a hug, looped Kip in for good measure, breathed them in. They left. Well, that was it then. 

Preparations kept happening. The Blue Lions still maintained a very intense, uh, circle among themselves, and the Black Eagles clumped together, distrusted and iced out, and the remaining Deer stuck together, kind of. Claude and Lysithea already had an in with the Blue Lions the others didn’t, and whither Claude went, there went Lorenz. Leonie—put her head down, stuck with Ignatz and Raphael a lot. They trailed after the other members of their house in a way that put Leonie in mind of a flock of ducklings. After she said it, Ignatz slipped her a little cartoony drawing of them as same. She pressed it in a book for safekeeping, seeing as how it was about the only thing that had made her smile in those tense weeks.

The monastery staff graduated their class early, which was nice and also didn’t matter at all. Okay. Some of the students cried when Seteth made his big speech. When he was done, Rhea spoke, asked the Goddess to bless them. (Good luck with that.) Then she smiled, looked to one side where some of the knights stood. 

“Despite these extraordinary times, we are reminded not to forget all our traditions,” the archbishop said. Leonie saw Alois grin, had a premonition. Rhea clapped her hands together sharply, and said, “Everyone! Let us eat.” Suddenly the main hall was filled with tables covered in platters of food. There were some cheers, and Leonie swore she saw Raphael wipe a happy tear from his eye. Well, okay.

It wasn’t a patch on the grub at the bird dance, but it was hot and plentiful. There was very little alcohol, but that about figured. A group of musicians struck up in the corner, and Leonie recognized two of the gardeners, a laundress, and a few soldiers as well. She also recognized the tune. It seemed like something lifted straight out of her childhood.

“Alright, my lovelies,” Manuela called from the front of the room. She was wearing a long, loose skirt and flat, worn boots. Leonie could hear her time onstage in the way her voice rang out and seemed to fit into the building music. “If you’ve never done a contra dance, then it’s high time you learned. Find yourself a partner now, anyone will do. And I hope you’re wearing comfortable shoes.” Manuela half-called, half-sang her way through the introductory patter, and Leonie—smiled. Well, they might all die in a few days, but they were alive for now. It didn’t mean anything, but. Well. Leonie looked around, and—sure. There. She slipped through the crowd, seized a hand, tugged Lorenz onto the floor. Why not. 

Manuela walked them through the steps, outlined the pattern of the dance, all in that sing-songy, carrying voice. Leonie only half-listened, observed the intense concentration on Lorenz’s face as he listened to the instructions. They got into their lines, and the fiddle started in earnest, and—they were off. Something deeper than muscle memory was at work, something in Leonie’s sinews and bones perhaps. She knew this song, this dance since before—everything. Before this new war and Jeralt and dreams and dread, practically since she could walk. It had existed before her and it would exist after her and, well. Alright. It was easy to fall into the rhythm of the dance, spinning, trading places, breaking apart, coming together again. Leonie was watching when the concentration eased from Lorenz’s face, smiled a little when he finally met her eyes. Ah, there he was. Here they both were, for now.

One dance led into another, and they were trading partners, forming groups, moving down the line. Leonie actually laughed aloud when Rabbit and Fleas started up. She went to tow Lorenz to find Ignatz and Raph and—the two boys found them. Yes. They spun and jumped and tapped their feet, and Leonie was sweating by the time they were done. The four of them bowed over their joined hands. Oh, she felt light and impossibly young.

“In my village, everyone wears skirts for these,” Leonie said. Lorenz and Ignatz looked at her strangely, but Raphael nodded.

“My grandpa and little sis and I have matching ones,” he said. “Really flowy ones, with lots of colors.” Leonie nodded, smiled at the thought. Sounded about right. She knew families like that. “They’re cooler too,” Raphael added, plucking absently at his jacket. Yeah, that sounded about right too.

“Sounds pretty,” Leonie said. Raphael nodded. 

“It is!”

After a series of fast songs, they finally played some slow ones to let everyone catch their breath. Then another, then some fast ones, and then—

“Alllright, my darlings, this is our last dance of the night,” Manuela called. “It’s another line dance, so find your partner and stand across from them. Everyone’s going to dance with everyone else for this one, believe you me. It’ll go a little bit like this…” 

And then it was over. Leonie covered a yawn, glanced around the room. Lorenz was next to her, seemed tired but content. Claude (intent, barely remembering to pretend to be a lighthearted flirt) was part of a cluster that had formed up around Dimitri, Dedue, and Professor Eisner. Raphael (happy and full) was with Lysithea (burning but on the verge of burning out, maybe she’d actually sleep tonight), and Ignatz (worried but trying) was hovering next to them. Marianne and Hilda—well. That was all of them. 

“Thank you,” Lorenz said, and bowed over her hand. Leonie—tried to grin, felt it come out differently. She bobbed a curtsy to cover up.

“And you.” And that was that. They walked to their rooms, and the next morning preparations continued.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RECS  
> 1\. [we'll lay on the grass and let the hours pass](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26984614) by nonisland. _Professor Byleth takes the Blue Lions on a…wilderness survival trip, which is definitely not just an excuse to get them all out of Garreg Mach in what’s shaping up to be a stressful moon for everyone._ This fic is so amazing, you gotta check it out, it's got nature and character studies and it's perfect.  
> 2\. Be kind to the people in your life, including and especially yourself, that is the rec.  
> \--  
> next chapter's so long I can't even. that's why this one was a longtime coming, 'cause i was freaking out. also because life stuff, gross. Anyway, next chapter: babies??? M...maybe??? I appreciate you all.


	8. let's go home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leonie went home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes I am updating today and I will update _tomorrow_.  
> I normally wouldn't say this, but if you're like me, and you sometimes like to read 2 fics in the same day and you try to save the fluffier one for last, in my opinion this chapter is fluffier than the corresponding chapter in the lorenz pov. YMMV

They lost, obviously. Oh, and apparently Rhea could turn into a dragon, so that was a thing Leonie witnessed.

They planned for defeat (Jeralt would have approved, he was very much in favor of contingencies), so when it started to turn to shit, Seteth gave the signal and the students evacuated, just like Hilda thought they should have to begin with. Leonie didn’t know if she was right after all, that they should have just run away to begin with. It didn’t seem right to run without even trying, but if you fought and lost, what did you really change? Leonie didn’t know the answers, or even if they were questions worth asking, and she also didn’t care.

She went home. 

Sauin Village was in northwestern Gloucester. The Sherbon River penned them in to the east and the Oghma Mountains rose up to the west. There was good hunting and fishing. It smelled of pine and earth and smoke and _home._ She arrived on foot, walking next to her horse, and the first people to see her were two village girls, Alodie and Hettie. They gaped at her, and Leonie just—looked back. It hadn’t even been a full year but they were so much taller than when she’d left, and looking at them Leonie felt old and damaged, and—Alodie shrieked, pelted across the square, caught Leonie around the middle at a full run. Hettie, being the older one, followed at a more dignified pace, and then they were both hugging her and they were asking so many questions, they wanted to know _everything_ and Alodie’s exclamation had drawn attention and then it seemed the whole village was there (well, not everyone, but Leonie lost track of all the people telling her who was out hunting and who was at the river and who was gone trading and how they’d be so excited to see her) and—there was Leonie’s mother, beaming and running across the town for her. She had the brats with her too, of course.

“Leonie!” her mother said, and everyone else seemed to drop away so it was just Leonie, and—

“Mom,” Leonie said, and felt the tears start, and her mother was there, wrapping her arms around Leonie, and Yetta was being squished between them, and Auden was trying to climb up to be part of the hug too, and it was just—it was a lot. “Mom,” she said again, and Yetta and Auden were crying because she was crying and her mom did—something, the woman was a whirlwind, and they were in Leonie’s family’s home and _oh._

After all the crying was done, Leonie had to hear all about who was walking out with who, and who was sleeping in the barn, and which neighbors were picking fights, and all the this and that of the town. Leonie sat on the floor, blanket over her shoulders, and passed a ball back and forth with Auden. Yetta was sitting next to their mom, cuddled up under her arm but watching her siblings intently.

“Yeti, do you remember Lee-Lee?” Leonie’s mom asked, cuddling her kid. Yetta wobbled her head back and forth.

“ _I_ remember,” Auden said, looking from their mom to Yetta to Leonie and back again. He told Yetta, “Lee-Lee went away for school.” He looked at Leonie. “You missed my birthday. We had the good potatoes.”

“Sorry I missed it. Did you have a good birthday? Get any presents?” Leonie asked. Auden brightened, jumped up and ran out of the room, yelling about how _Uncle Dan made me horses and knights and Yeti can’t have them but you gotta see I want a castle but Dad says I have to wait but maybe—_

“Well he hasn’t changed much,” Leonie lied. He was huge now, and louder than ever. Baby. Her mom just smiled and cuddled her sister.

“What happened to you, sweetheart?” she asked gently, and Leonie took a deep breath that caught in her throat, and the words were heavy on her tongue. Auden was still yelling about his toys, the words impossible to make out. Leonie shook her head, swallowed hard. Leonie’s mom looked at her, knowing, and reached out and put her hand on Leonie’s head. “Tell me later, sweetheart. We have time.”

Leonie was crying again again when Auden came back, still at a run, box of wooden knights and horses in his arms. She laughed wetly when he put the box down, walked over to her, and very solemnly patted her face. 

“There, there,” he said decisively. “You can cry if you need to. Everyone cries sometimes.” He looked away from her to their mom and sister, for confirmation. Leonie didn’t have to look to know what her mom’s smile would look like.

“Thank you, Oddball,” Leonie said seriously. “Can I have a hug too?” Auden obliged, and then she asked about his knights, and he was off again. 

Approximately seventeen hours into the monologue about his knights and their horses, Yetta slid out from under their mom’s arm and joined them on the floor. Leonie somehow, mysteriously, ended up playing knights and horses with the brats, and her mom somehow mysteriously slipped out and conjured an entire fucking feast. Sweet Saint Cethleann, it smelled _amazing._ And then their dad was back, and the whole hug-and-tears fest started up again, and somehow it was night and Leonie was offering to sleep on the floor in a pile of blankets, and Leonie’s parents were offering to let her have her old bed and the brats could sleep with them, and said brats were whining (ha), and she ended up sleeping on the floor next to her old bed and the brats ended up curling up next to her _on_ the floor anyway.

Before Jeralt, Leonie had, like the other girls of her village, worn skirts. After Jeralt, Leonie wore leggings and legwraps. She didn’t _need_ to (Leonie and all the other girls knew how to move through the forest in their skirts, of course), but it was—it meant something to her, and to the town that she did. In Sauin, women and girls wore dresses or skirts, men and boys wore pants, and young men who were about to leave—not to marry, but to go away for formal schooling or find their fortune—wore legwraps. It something between a mark of honor and a warning. In Leonie’s case, it was a visible reminder that she didn’t belong the way the others did anymore, a promise that she would leave, a sign that whatever prospects she had fell outside the established patterns of trade-marriage-family.

When Leonie returned, after Garreg Mach—she put on a skirt and didn’t feel right, and put on pants and didn’t feel right, and then her mother had found her. Her mother had sewn her leggings, had helped her with the leg wraps. Now her mother considered her, pressed a pile of clothing into Leonie’s hands. 

Leonie fidgeted as her mom tilted her head to the side in thought. 

“If we took the hem up, it would show your legs more,” her mom said at last. “Maybe it’d be more comfortable since it’d closer to your uniform, too.” If they took the hem up, it would show off the pants Leonie was wearing under the skirt. Leonie was not exactly a woman of the village, and she wasn’t a man, and she wasn’t a journey-bound youth. Her mother had helped her thread the needle once again.

For the first time since she was old enough to talk, Leonie was… _useless_ was probably overstating things, but all the things she usually did for the village were suddenly outside her range. She tried to go hunting with her father and ended up scaring off the game and missing her shots. She tried to do basic repairs and ended up staring at her tools like she’d never seen them before. The first time she tried to go fishing, she ended up falling asleep and caught nothing. The second time she started to think too much (Jeralt and the attack on the monastery and the looks on everyone’s faces when first Jeralt’s kid and then the Archbishop disappeared) and caught feelings. No, thank you. 

She was barely even taking care of her horse. When Leonie passed her cavalry exam, the monastery entrusted a _horse_ to her. No one else seemed to think it was extraordinary, so she didn’t make a big deal of the fact that that they’d just handed her the most valuable thing she’d ever owned—but Leonie had never forgotten. (She’d never forgotten that there were people in the world who had so much they might just… gift a horse to you for passing a test, either.) 

Except now, Leonie was—not doing her best by the horse. She fed her made sure she had water and patted her sides, but it was all rote and she knew it was rote and worse she was pretty sure the horse knew it was rote, and so—

Alodie and Hettie took one look at the horse and fell in love instantly. It was almost enough to make her smile. The surprise and delight on their faces when they found out the horse’s name was Daisy did make Leonie smile, a little.

Anyway. Alodie and Hettie her Leonie’s saving grace. They seemed to enjoy nothing so much as loitering around Daisy and lavishing her with the attention she deserved. Leonie checked in with them, and Daisy, on the regular, but otherwise she stayed away. (She hadn’t touched her lance since she got home either.) She just… couldn’t. Still.

It was frustrating to be useless. Leonie had spent her whole life trying to grow into a person who could— _do_ things, for shit’s sake. Hunt, fish, climb, fight, cook, clean, repair… But now. She didn’t know. It was like the person she’d tried to grow into had been shattered, and each of the pieces was too sharp to grasp. All her old tricks were beyond her, but she still had do do _something_ with herself.

It turned out, the one thing she could bring herself to do was the one thing she never really liked: minding children. 

It started with her corralling Yeti and Odd, to make things easier for her mother. Her mother, being an enterprising soul, went ahead and offered her services to what felt like the entire village, and suddenly Leonie was a sheepdog with a half dozen snot-nosed-, constantly talking-interrupting-begging-for-attention sheep. Yeesh. But they were energetic, and chasing after them meant her brain didn’t have time to make trouble for itself. And they meant well (inasmuch as they meant anything instead of just running off at the mouth while also _literally_ running off), and they weren’t interested in asking why she hadn’t snagged herself a rich husband at the Academy. (Well, except for Levina, who was the kind of girl who liked to daydream about princes and whatnot. Leonie thought about what Dimitri looked like spattered in blood and kept her mouth shut.)

“Do you know anyone who needs, I dunno, something weeded?” Leonie asked her dad. It was early morning, and she was watching her horrible flock. Odd, Yeti, Levina, and Harley were playing a running-around-screaming game (like always). Stuart and Skyla were playing with dolls, and Kelton was glued to Leonie’s side. He just took a while to wake up and liked to hug, but before long he’d be running around screaming too. Little monster. Leonie’s dad gave her a look, swept his gaze over her awful sheeplings, and gave her a look again.

“You don’t need to put ‘em to work, tiger,” he said with palpable amusement. Leonie made a face at him. “It’s enough if you keep them busy.”

“Well?” she asked. On the field of play, Yeti tripped and fell flat on her face. Leonie waited, and—oh, good, she bounced back up right away, and play resumed. Good girl.

“I’ll ask around,” her dad said mildly. Leonie watched absent-mindedly as Levina got ‘out.’ “Careful not to ask them to do too much.”

“I’ll be careful,” Leonie promised. “Get me an extra set of eyes and I could take them foraging or fishing, I think.”

“I’ll think about it,” her dad said dryly. “Think I got a boy you could borrow now and then.” Oof—Yeti and Levina went down in some kind of collision, and this time there was crying. Leonie swung Kelton onto her hip (ugh, he was heavy) and went to check on them. No real injuries, just surprise and a skinned palm. Good. By the time it was settled Leonie’s dad had made himself scarce. Pfft. Fine.

Widow Pickerling had a plot next to her house that had been allowed to run wild, but it was a waste not to use it for something. Leonie showed her sheeplings how to restore it for planting. They were finishing up when her dad loaned Thistle to her. Thistle was one of the village boys. He wasn’t technically apprenticed to her dad (well, _technically_ almost no one in town was apprenticed to anyone because there were legal definitions and monetary factors in play, but… if it looked like a duck and all that), but he spent as much time as he could get away with trailing her dad around. With Thistle, they could go into the woods and gather or down to some of the streams and fish. They gathered kindling, made rushlights, whatever Leonie could think of that would keep everyone busy. 

Meanwhile, Leonie had gotten her hands on a bit of scrap wood and found her old whittling knife. She couldn’t make her brother a whole castle, but she thought she could manage a wyvern, maybe. It started out okay, but then… well.

“That looks like dog shit,” Thistle commented helpfully. The kids were preparing potato slips. Leonie made a face. “What’s it supposed to be?”

“A wyvern,” she sighed. The general design was simple enough: carve out the outline of the thing, then chisel in the details on both sides and paint the thing. Ta-da. Unfortunately, while carving the outline had been fine, Leonie’s detail work wasn’t amazing. She pointed, “See, the wings go up, and the head’s on this end, and here’s the tail.”

“And it has an udder?”

“That’s where the saddle goes,” Leonie said. Thistle snickered. “Yeah, yeah, I know.”

“Gimme,” Thistle said. Leonie passed him the carved block. He turned it over to the blank side. “Got something to draw with?” Leonie passed him a bit of charcoal from her bag. He drew the shape Leonie had tried to describe. “Like that?”

“Wow, that looks way better,” Leonie said. “Now all I have to do is not mess it up. Thanks, Thistle.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Thistle said, blushing dully. He was about twelve, to Leonie’s recollection, which meant he responded poorly to embarrassing situations like being thanked. Ah, youth. He frowned in the general direction of the kids (they were still working, good little monsters) and asked, “…Can I ask you a question?” Well that couldn’t possibly be good.

“Go ahead,” Leonie said, starting to carve the fresh side.

“Um,” Thistle said. Yeah, no way his question was going to turn out well. Leonie waited, paying attention to her carving. “You went to fancy school to learn to fight, right?”

“Yeah.”

“But you’re back, right?” She nodded. “Um, my dad says, he said you came back early because you came to your senses.” Ugh. Thistle’s dad was _awful._ He was a bitter, hateful man, and if Leonie was in charge of this damn village he’d have been out on his ear and Thistle would have grown up in some other house. But he was Thistle’s dad, so. 

“What does that mean?” Leonie asked, mild as milk. Thistle shrugged, didn’t look at her.

“Realized you’re better off getting a husband who will take care of you, I _guess_ ,” he said. 

“Well. That’s an opinion,” Leonie said, still as mild as she could make herself be. _Ugh._ This shit was why she left in the first place. Marriage and children? Pass. “He does know there’s a war on, right, and the first battle was _at_ the school where I was studying?”

“I dunno, I guess,” Thistle said. His shoulders were hunched and he was frowning at the ground.

“Well,” Leonie said. “If he asked me, I would said that I came back early because a war broke out, and they graduated us all early, so I did _finish_ school, I just finished early. And I wanted to come home because, well, there’s a war on, and also I missed everyone.” Except Thistle’s dad, who was a real bastard.

“You finished? Graduated, I mean?” Thistle asked. Leonie nodded. 

“Yep. Got the badge proving it at home, too,” she said.

“Oh. Good,” he said, unhunching a bit. Leonie smiled crookedly. Good indeed. “So how come you’re still here?” he asked. “Not, you know, traveling around and stuff?”

“I…” Good question. Leonie didn’t want to talk about this. “Someone I knew died, who was important to me, and it made me really sad. So I came home.”

“Oh,” Thistle said. Leonie focused on carving the wyvern’s right wing. “…I’m sorry that happened,” he said, awkward but probably sincere. Leonie shrugged, kept carving.

“Yeah. But I’m feeling better, so. I dunno. It’s good to see people.”

“So you’ll leave again when you feel better?” 

“That’s the plan,” Leonie said.

“Unless you get a husband,” Thistle said. Leonie made a face.

“I don’t think I want one, Thistle,” she said. He gaped at her like she’d said she wasn’t fond of beer, or she didn’t understand why fish lived in water. She gave him A Look. “Hm?”

“But—who will take care of you?” he said.

“Me,” she suggested. He gave _her_ a look.

“But what if you get sick? Or when you get old?”

“I’ll figure something out,” Leonie said.

“Like me and my dad, then?” Thistle said. Ugh, Leonie _hated_ Thistle’s dad. The kid’s voice hadn’t cracked and he was worried about taking care of his old man. If she was rich, she’d pay someone to keep house for the old bastard and offer the kid, like, a _real_ apprenticeship in some city. If only. She shook her head. “Like, like Mrs. Winters and Miss Bosun?” he asked in a low voice. Mrs. Winters and Miss Bosun were both in their sixties, deeply in love, and lived together near the edge of town. 

“I dunno, not exactly,” Leonie said. 

“I don’t get you, Leonie,” Thistle said. Leonie put her carving aside and dug in her bag for—there, the rolls she’d packed this morning. 

“No one does,” she joked. She passed a roll to the kid and in loud voice called, “Monsters! Snack time!” The brats stampeded.

Leonie started practicing with her lance again. She wasn’t as out of condition as she might have been, but she wasn’t exactly _in_ condition either. She tried to come up with combinations—strikes, blocks, dodges—that worked her whole body and trained her endurance. She—it had been a long time since she’d really thought about watching Marianne’s dancing training, since she’d taken an interest in her own training like this.

She was training not just muscle memory, not just the explosion of action but also her overall endurance, okay. The principle was sound. She came up with a few different combinations, did them until her muscles were complaining, her shirt soaked with sweat, her breathing heavy. It felt—good. She missed—she missed a lot of things, and people. But her body was strong and able, and even if she wasn’t the fighter she’d been all those months ago, she was still—she was still here, and that did count for something. She practiced until her sweat was dripping in her eyes, until her breath was steaming in the cool air, until she felt tired and empty and clean.

She wiped her brow, cared for her weapon, put it away, just until tomorrow. Okay.

Somehow, what with chasing the brats around all day and all the excessive feelings (or excessive lack of feelings, depending on the day), it was a long time before Leonie actually sat outside at night to admire the sky. 

The forest and the mountains meant that the sky here wasn’t as wide as at the monastery, but it was deeper and darker. There were clouds tonight, soft, shapeless things, and the moon was barely a crescent. The stars were brighter and sharper than they ever were at the monastery. Leonie tugged her blanket tighter and just—looked, and breathed.

Her father found her there, settled next to her. He hadn’t brought his own blanket, so she shared hers, and they sat and breathed together, let their own thoughts spiral out and fade into the night.

Leonie’s mother found them some time later, bearing a blanket of her own. She settled on Leonie’s other side, and there was much fussing of blankets and arranging of bodies until they made a cozy pile.

“Beautiful tonight,” Leonie’s mom said, and Leonie and her dad nodded. It was. “What are you two thinking about?” Leonie’s dad volunteered that he was thinking about making a trip to one of the cities soon, and who might want to go with and when they should leave. Leonie’s mom made some suggestions, and he hummed to show he was thinking about them, and she kissed the side of Leonie’s head. “And you, baby?”

Leonie had been thinking about what project she could get her sheeplings into next, but when she opened her mouth what came out was, “I think it’s almost time for me to go. Again.” Leonie’s mom hugged her, and her dad hugged them both. Oof. Breathing was overrated anyway.

“Already, but we only got you back,” her mom said, and her dad was saying at the same time, “We’ll be sorry to see you go, kid.” Leonie wiggled until she could hug them back.

“Not tomorrow, but soon,” she said. 

“Stay long enough for the flower festival,” Leonie’s mother urged. “Your aunt said there’s some likely lads coming this year.” 

“Ma,” Leonie sighed, and it slipped out like she was eight, twelve, sixteen again, intonation and all. Her mom kissed her cheek, tugged Leonie’s ear gently. “You don’t think that’s reason to leave sooner?”

“Sorry, baby, but I had to try,” she said without remorse. Leonie’s mom. She was always pushing, couldn’t help herself, but she meant well. Leonie’s _dad_ was snickering because he was awful. Woe, what an awful family. Leonie stuck her tongue out at her dad, and he tugged her ear too. “I was younger than you when I married your dad,” her mom said.

“I know, ma,” Leonie sighed. She leaned more comfortably against her.

“I was younger than you are now when I had you, Lee-Lee…” her mom continued.

“I know, ma.”

“And you love kids…” 

“I do not,” Leonie corrected.

“Sure,” Leonie’s mom said comfortably, “And your kids would be friends with Yeti and Oddie…” Leonie’s face was definitely doing a thing again because _children,_ Leonie’s own personal children, plural. Yeesh.

“You don’t think it would be weird to have _grandchildren_ almost the same age as your own kids?” Leonie pushed back. Her mom just clicked her tongue at her. 

“No, I think it’d be fun.” The woman was implacable. “They’d be a big brother and sister to them, Lee-Lee.”

“Ma,” she sighed. Her mom grinned, teeth sharp and eyes sparkling, and tugged Leonie’s ear again.

“Oh, sorry, _Leonie_ , I forgot you’re a fancy officer now, _too fancy_ to listen to your old ma,” she teased. Her dad came to her rescue, tugged his wife’s ear and dropped a kiss on her hair.

“Go easy on her, Margie, she’s had a long day of running after other people’s children,” he chided. “That’s enough to put anyone off kids for a while.” 

“I haven’t heard any complaining,” her mom said placidly and kissed his cheek.

“Well if you want to hear complaining…” Leonie and her dad drawled together. The night was dark and deep and sparkling.

If her mom was starting to think about _grandchildren_ , it was probably past time for Leonie to leave. She had debts to pay and the world to see, after all. (It was hard to say goodbye to her sheeplings, and Thistle, and it was hard to say goodbye to her family, and it was hard to goodbye to—everyone, and the forests Leonie knew so well she could run them in the dark. But—there were much harder goodbyes in the world, so. Leonie did it.)

Leonie and Daisy left Sauin Village on a bright, breezy day. The clouds were high in the sky, the sun was bright, and the dome of the sky seemed to go on forever. Alright then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- In case it wasn't abundantly clear, Leonie is an oops baby :D  
> \- Leonie, her dad, and Odd have almost identical haircuts, courtesy of mama Pinelli. Yetta has the same bangs as the rest of 'em, but her hair is longer overall  
> \- I know people sometimes don't like kids in fic, but in my normal job I work with kids and I haven't been able to this school year, so yeah. Next chapter: road trip (no kids, I promise)  
> \- Also I know Leonie refers to looking after kids as being """"useless"""" but she is Wrong About That (shoutout to the 6 year old who told me to my face that if I got fired I could "find a real job." Woof)  
> \--  
> RECS  
> 1\. If you like angst with a happy/hopeful ending, check out [Hang the Moon & Stars](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27029371/chapters/65986861) by oneletterdiff. Critics (meaning me) rave, "it made me feel emotions and I literally had to hug a pillow" _After the war, Ingrid agrees to marry Felix. Her parents want her to. It’s politically advantageous. They’re friends, and she knows he’d treat her well. It shouldn’t matter that she suspects that he’s still in love with Annette — who died in the war — or that she’s still in love with Ashe — who didn’t._  
>  2\. [I Defied My Solitude; You Came Through Alone](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26916832) by nonisland. _Lorenz looks around, startled, before he focuses on her. “Ah. Hello.” There’s something awfully blank about his expression. / “You remember me, right?” Annette asks. She squints at the book he’s holding, trying to make out the faded gilt letters on the title. She can’t quite read them, but it’s something about a harvest, maybe, or harvests? They’re in the agricultural section of the library, anyway. “Annette. We were at the School of Sorcery together in Fhirdiad back in 1178.”_ It's great :D I love Annette and Mercedes and Lorenz is okay too I guess (fun fact, I didn't like Lorenz when I started my Golden Deer run, and look at me now)  
> 3\. [fruit ninja](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26645212) by imalright. _Flayn sets Felix straight._ It is very short and silly. OR for less short and even sillier, there is [Fuzzy Buddy](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25470364) which is... Sylvain turns into a caterpillar.


	9. let's go let's go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leonie did what she always meant to do: struck out to earn her living by the sword and to see the world.

Leonie did what she always meant to do: struck out to earn her living by the sword and to see the world. They took a hard line to the east, just her and Daisy, until they hit the city of Kierwall. It was a prosperous city with wide streets, brightly painted shutters, and window boxes everywhere. Leonie asked around and followed the suggestions of strangers until she found herself at the Happy Hog Restaurant.

“Welcome to the Happy Hog! Sit anywhere, I’ll be over in a moment to take your order!” a girl about Thistle’s age called. She was stocky and had blond hair. Leonie did as she was bidden, and the girl slid over to her table with a smile. “Hi, I’m Maya.”

About a week later, Leonie and Daisy set out on the road again, this time accompanied by one Raphael Kirsten. She wasn’t sure, when she arrived, if she was going to be leaving again with just her horse or what, but Raphael had gone to the Officer’s Academy for a reason. They both had obligations.

They signed on with a pair of brother mercenaries before leaving the city. Benedict was tall and strapping, and Alan was lean and weaselly. Leonie ended up bonding with the weasel. Their first job out of the city was a matter of guarding a family as they traveled north into Riegan territory. There was a brief standoff with some would-be bandits, but apparently their combined might was enough to send the scoundrels running, or so Benedict put it. Raphael grinned and clapped him on the shoulder. Leonie and the weasel traded raised-brow looks.

Exactly one week after they left the city, Raphael pulled out a bundle of papers and set to writing a letter home. They were in Riegan and almost to their destination.

“If you want to write a letter, too, you can use a sheet or two,” Raphael offered. “Let your family know what you’re up to.”

And so began Leonie’s own adventures in written correspondence. Her mom was better at reading than her dad, and the brats couldn’t read at all yet. Leonie did her best to add little drawings of the things she was writing about. She thought she managed a pretty decent rendering of Raphael (“Add more muscles!”) and Maya and even Benedict and Alan. She added a rough sketch of the creek where she and Alan had caught their dinner for good measure. 

Raphael had passed her two sheets of paper, but she only used the one to write to her family. She was about to pass the second, unused sheet back when she thought—why not.

_Dear Lorenz,  
I hope this letter finds you well. Raphael and I have joined forces and are setting out to earn glory and riches… or at least a good day’s pay for a good day’s work. If you have any jobs, send them our way! Mail for us can be sent to the Happy Hog Restaurant…_

They worked their way up and down the eastern Alliance, and Leonie learned more about the minor territories than she ever had in school. It was so much easier to remember Barcol, Jorldent, Marlton, and the rest when she’d actually _been_ there, seen the land, tasted the food, and met the people. She would always remember Jorldent as the place where Raphael won a bag of coins for wrestling a bear, and she’d always remember Neities for how the Benedict and Alan guffawed at the face she made when she was offered an oyster on the half shell. _Disgusting_ her eyes told her, but Leonie Pinelli was not one to back down from a challenge, so… bottoms up.

It wasn’t bad, which was probably a lesson about something or other.

It seemed that wherever she went, there were interesting things to send home. The Neities coastline was lousy with rocks, smoothed by the ocean, a muted rainbow. She included the prettiest in her letters home and to Lorenz. There were seeds in Jorldent that looked like little cat’s paws, and she and Raphael wasted a cheerful morning picking their way along a beach in Edmund competing to find the nicest seashells. 

Leonie expected to feel more at home when they went west, started working in the territories there. The Oghma Mountains were familiar in a way Fodlan’s Throat wasn’t. The color of the stone, the shape of the clouds, the plants and the bird calls were restful in their familiarity. That was about it, though. The people—they were just, well, people. Strangers.

Things got really strange when they ventured further west, crossing the Oghma Mountains into Kingdom territory. That time, Leonie expected things to be more familiar than they were, but—there was something in the air, across the mountains. People were tense everywhere in the Alliance, with the ambient tension increasing the closer you got to the border, any border. But the Kingdom—there was a bad feeling, sometimes, like they were being watched. Benedict and Alan even said that this wasn’t the Kingdom they remembered. They didn’t stay long in Faerghus. Not enough business there anyway.

They drifted back to Kierwall after their Kingdom jaunt. Benedict and Alan were from the region, and they gave her and Raphael leave to visit home. Sauin was too far for the trip, but after months on the road, the thought of sleeping in the same bed night after night was its own reward. She followed Raphael back to the Happy Hog. Maya gave her a big hug (and thanks for watching Raph’s back, as if Leonie could ever do anything else) and a stack of mail. Less than half of it was from Sauin. The rest were from Lorenz.

She’d written him on a whim, but—he must have replied to every letter she did get around to writing. He wrote of how the other nobles were doing, told her about society events. The rest of it—she heard about the Gloucester Hall gardens, and the process of ordering livery, and the little this and that. If you’d told Leonie a year ago she was going to be getting a letter from Count Gloucester’s son about the trials of finding a new tailor, she’d have been horrified. Now she held the letter in one hand and read about how this tailor was too chatty and that one not personable enough and smiled crookedly. She could hear every emphasized syllable, picture every twitch of the brow as Lorenz recounted detail after detail.

She and Raph stuck with Benedict and Alan for about half a year, and they parted on good terms. After that, they signed on with a larger company. It was an education. Larger companies tended to pick up different kinds of jobs, and the logistics and dynamics involved were different too. The company they signed on with was based out of Riegan, and it did a lot of work across the plains.

Leonie expected to learn a lot about functioning in a formal but not strictly military unit, and to gain a greater understanding of the planning that went into a well-run (or poorly run, if it came to that) mercenary company. She did not expect to, uh. She didn’t expect to be as popular with the girls of the villages they passed through as she ended up being. Was it her cool mercenary persona? Was she really just that attractive? Was it Daisy? It was probably Daisy.

A few months in, when they were wrapping up a job in Neities, they got word that Duke Oswald von Riegan had died, and Claude was the new leader of the Alliance. More specifically, they were in a bar and an extremely drunk merchant was toasting to ‘the new Riegan.’ As Raphael and Leonie were fairly intoxicated at the time, the implications took quite a while to sink in.

“I hope Claude’s okay, losing his grandpa like that and all,” Raphael said the next day.

“I wouldn’t lead the Alliance if you paid me,” Leonie said. And that was the extent of the conversation on that topic.

A few months after that, the work took them into Goneril. Their company didn’t just visit the territory, they visited _the Gonerils._

Leonie hadn’t planned on saying anything, but when Raph heard where they were headed, he said in his big cheerful voice, “Oh, we were classmates with Hilda Goneril, I wonder if she’ll be around. Actually, I have something to give her if we have time.” Conversation around the campfire stopped, just for a moment, before starting back up again, and lo, Leonie and Raphael got added to the negotiation party. Their job was to stand in the back and say nothing, which suited Leonie.

Of course it didn’t work out that way. They didn’t even make it into the keep proper. They were almost to the inner wall when they caught sight of a familiar pair of pink pigtails.

“Hey! Hilda,” Raphael called. “Over here!” Said pair of pink pigtails snapped towards them, followed by their owner, one Hilda Goneril, who herself was followed by… a pack of children. Huh. Leonie experienced a brief moment of deju vu, though her own flock had been younger, and then she experienced a brief moment of almost being bowled over by Hilda.

“ _Leonie!_ ” Hilda exclaimed as she tried to squeeze the life out of Leonie. “It is you! And Raphael!” Hilda let go of Leonie long enough to hug Raphael, and then she hugged both of them. “I’m so happy to see you.” 

“It’s good to see you too,” Raphael said happily. Leonie wheezed her closest approximation to the same. Hilda had gotten stronger, good for her (and bad for the structural integrity of Leonie’s spine). “It’s actually kind of perfect that you’re here right now, but first: what’ve you been up to?”

They unfortunately couldn’t spend too much time playing catch up—the company leaders had an appointment to keep—but when Leonie mentioned it, Hilda only nodded. Then she put her fingers in her mouth and let out an earsplitting whistle. Suddenly they were surrounded by children. Guh. Hilda spoke to them briefly and the group split up, most of the kids heading off together to do who-knew-what and a few staying with Hilda.

“Oh, hey, Kip,” Leonie said. Kip nodded to her. He looked tired but generally okay, a little more meat on his bones, definitely taller. Hilda told him to stick with her and Raph, and then they rejoined the company leaders, headed into the keep for their meeting.

The meeting went smoothly. Raphael was probably bored, but Leonie was fascinated to see how the company leaders and the Goneril representatives worked out the terms of their next job. She’d seen Benedict and Alan do this plenty, but for a job like this—it was interesting, at least for a future mercenary leader. Captain Ursula let her second-in-command, Martin, do most of the talking, but the others spoke up regularly. They’d clearly talked this all out among themselves early on.

After the terms of the deal were hammered out and their party was standing in the hall, Martin put his hands on his hips and looked to Ursula. She shrugged. Martin turned back to Leonie and Raphael.

“You know where we’re staying tonight. Be back by tomorrow morning, and be ready to work. Got it?” They nodded. With Leonie and Raphael free to roam, Kip led them deeper into the keep. 

Hilda was different. There was an energy and focus to her that she’d rarely had at the Academy. She welcomed them into what Leonie supposed was one of several rooms that the pink-haired girl called her own. All around the room were jewelry boxes and bottles of what Leonie assumed were perfumes and cosmetics. On one side of the room there was a workstation of some kind with small tools and sketches of jewelry and accessories. A cluster of soft chairs and a low table had been pushed to the side, and a larger table surrounded by stools and hardbacked chairs now dominated the center of the room. On it were a jumble of books, papers, and writing implements. It looked like a cross between a meeting room and a classroom.

Hilda beckoned them to the cluster of soft chairs where, Leonie now saw, a tea service awaited them. Their hostess served them tea and refreshments, and as they made smalltalk she was almost the girl Leonie remembered, but—still different, somehow. 

“Where’s Marianne?” Leonie asked, looking around. Hilda’s smile faded, just for a moment, before she shook her head and pinned another, brighter smile in its place.

“She had to go back to Edmund,” Hilda said, “But she’ll be back soon. Her father and mother have been awfully understanding about letting her stay here and all, and how—how the kids need her. The little ones are especially attached to her.” 

“How long’s she gone for?” Raphael asked. 

“Another week, maybe two,” Hilda sighed. She didn’t need to utter the words _I miss her_ when they were hanging so clearly in the air. “But what about you two? Have you seen anyone else?”

“Just Raphael,” Leonie said. Raphael nodded.

“I get letters from Ignatz, and a few from Lysithea,” he volunteered. Leonie nodded. Hilda nodded too, leaning forward. 

“You’ve heard about Claude’s grandfather? And the Kingdom?” she asked. They nodded. The news out of the Kingdom—Leonie hadn’t believed it when she’d first heard it, but well. “Claude’s the Alliance leader now, but it’s not an easy job. If you’re ever out of work, or you’re just looking for a change, write to me, or just come in person. If the Gonerils don’t have work for you, Claude definitely will.” 

“I’m pretty happy doing what I am now,” Leonie said, feeling awkward. “And we’re signed on until midsummer.”

“Of course, of course,” Hilda said agreeably. “But if you need work, come to me.” Leonie had a dizzying moment of—recollection, more raw emotion than memory. _You will always have a home in Goneril._ Her memories from… well, from Jeralt’s death up until sometime after she’d arrived back in Sauin were weirdly jumbled, but for a moment, the fresh recollection made hear want to—bow her head, or, or something. 

Raphael brought Leonie back into the present when he said, “Thanks, Hilda, that’s really nice of you.” 

“Yeah,” Leonie echoed, voice perhaps unexpectedly rough. Hilda smiled at them, a fond expression that was nevertheless—shadowed by some emotion. Then she brightened. 

“Oh, and let me give you—” She sprang from her chair, darted to one side of the room where she produced a stack of papers. She thrust them at Leonie and Raphael. “So you can write to me,” she said. There was something in her expression, that new seriousness that Leonie didn’t know what to make of. She accepted the papers from her friend, tucked them carefully away. “I expect _regular_ correspondence from you two,” Hilda said, hands on her hips. Leonie cast around for something normal to say.

“You’re giving us homework now?” she asked. Hilda laughed and Raphael groaned. From there things turned into something between reminiscing and playing catch up.

They stayed in Goneril territory for a little over a month, traveling here and there. Leonie did write to Hilda, seeing as how the other girl had given her all that paper and all.

The next year was probably the best of all during those wandering days. When they parted with Ursula’s company, they were back in Riegan territory. Raph accompanied Leonie back to Sauin (all her monsters were so big now) before she followed him back to Kierwall, and then they got it in their heads to amble their way towards Lewes, which was on the Riegan side of the Riegan-Gloucester border.

“What’s the place called again?” Leonie asked as they ambled the streets of Lewes. It was a nice city, she guessed. “Victor and Sons?”

“Victor and Victor,” Raphael said with something less than his usual cheer. Well, from what Leonie understood, he’d known the Victors from before his parents died so maybe being in Lewes was hard for him. Or maybe he was just getting hungry. “This way.”

Leonie stayed at Raphael’s elbow, content to gape at the sights like the country girl she was. She understood why people lived in cities, but it was weird to imagine _growing up_ in one. Then again, Raphael had said something similar about growing up in Sauin Village when that was the most natural thing in the world, so who knew.

Their luck was in, kind of. Victor and Victor was open, but neither of the men behind the counter were Ignatz. Same hair, though, and same nose.

“Raphael, is that you?” the man who had to be Ignatz’s father greeted them. “You’re all grown up.” He smiled like looking at Raphael pinched him in some way. Again, Leonie wasn’t party to everything that had happened between the Kirstens and the Victors, but she suspected there were a lot of complicated feelings on all sides. The other man, who had to be Ignatz’s brother, greeted them as well.

“Ignatz is working, but he’ll be free in a few hours,” the brother, Isaac, said. He was lean like Ignatz, but broader of shoulder and with a short beard. “You can come around then.” They’d come all this way only to be told to wait some more. Well, they were in the city and had nowhere else to be, so Raph and Leonie left. He found them a good place to eat and rest their legs, and then they wandered their way to some shops and spent some time looking at trinkets and knickknacks.

One place was selling, oh, little boxes and brushes and even hand mirrors, all decorated with different designs. Raphael spent some time picking out a gift for Maya, with Leonie assisting. The mirrors were too expensive, but a brush or a trinket box might just suit her. Leonie helped in the form of poking through the cheaper things and showing them to Raphael if she thought his sister might like the design.

“Hey, how about this one?” Leonie asked, holding up a comb. It was carved, lacquered wood and was decorated with asters and rabbits. Someone had gone to the effort to color the center of the asters yellow, and Leonie noticed as she was examining it that a few of the dots of color were slightly off-center. It was still nicer than anything she’d owned, of course, and she felt herself nonsensically charmed by it.

“That’s cute, I think,” Raphael said, “Maybe.”

“If you don’t get it, I might,” Leonie said idly. He shrugged and smiled, and they kept looking through the collection. Raphael turned up a brush decorated with a hunting scene. Its overall color scheme featured a certain amount of red.

“Look at all these dogs!” he exclaimed. “Maya loves dogs.” Leonie examined at the brush.

“Are you sure? This is a bit gristly,” she said after a moment. It was nothing shocking, but two of the hounds had prey, no longer alive, in their mouths. Others appeared to be carrying parts. The hounds did, to Raphael’s point, appear to be enjoying themselves.

“She loves dogs,” Raphael repeated. The only other item Leonie located with dogs on it was one of the mirrors, and that was far beyond their means. Well, Raphael probably knew his own sister best. Leonie ended up buying the comb, but instead of drawing it through her hair she wrapped it in a clean kerchief and stowed in her pack. She didn’t know why. 

By the time they made it back to Victor and Victor, Ignatz was standing out front. He beamed when he saw them and hurried to stand in front of them. Leonie thought he was going to hug them, but he just came to a stop, fidgeting slightly.

“Good to see you,” she said.

“I missed you,” Raphael said.

“So good to see you too,” Ignatz breathed, and he was still fidgeting like he couldn’t quite stay still. Leonie and Raphael opened their arms and he threw himself at them, beaming. 

They left Lewes, the three of them together, in the company of a mid-sized company captained by a man named Keye. They signed on for a whole year this time, crossing the Oghma Mountains into Kingdom territory. Things were deteriorating badly over there, had been since the coup in Fhiridad, but that did mean there was more than enough work to go around. Leonie felt like a scavenger for even thinking like that.

They covered a lot of ground that year, but the specifics of Kingdom territory didn’t stick in Leonie’s mind the way the territories within the Alliance did. Some things lodged in her memory, most of which didn’t matter: the way Ignatz caught his breath when he saw first sunrise in the Oghma Mountains, the time she and Raphael got themselves kicked out of a pub for dancing on a table, the way Raphael’s face softened when Ignatz shyly presented him with a sketch of Maya. Leonie sent home strange seeds, interesting pebbles, all manner of bits and bobs she thought her family might find interesting. She kept writing to Lorenz too, just because—just because.

Leonie had sort of forgotten she’d sent the rabbit comb to Lorenz. She—she didn’t even know why she did it, really it just—it had seemed right. It wasn’t really her mother’s taste, nor her sister’s, and Leonie didn’t need a fancy comb, but—well anyway. It seemed like his taste, was all.

It was common for months to pass before they made it back to the Happy Hog, so each letter sent was a little like, oh, like telling stories into the dark when there was no one to listen but the trees, the frogs, and the moon. But early on when Leonie, Raph, and Ignatz made it back to the Happy Hog, Leonie found the comb she’d sent Lorenz. He’d sent it with a letter that was really—well, in some ways it was classic Lorenz.

_Dear Leonie,  
I thank you most sincerely for the charming token you sent me in your recent missive (one whimsically decorated ‘hare brush’—how droll!), but I must beg of you to accept its return. I believe you are already cognizant of my personal policy regarding the exchange of goods between members of the peerage and the commonfolk. Please find said item enclosed with this piece of correspondence._

_I bid you not to think that the return of this item is in any way a repudiation of your comradeship. Your friendship is more valuable than any mere token, and your continuing correspondence is ‘gift’ enough._

_Sincerely,_  
_Your friend,_  
_Lorenz Hellman Gloucester_

Yeesh. Leonie had heard the speech about not accepting things from the commonfolk often enough to recognize it when it came wrapped in unnecessarily prolix verbiage. She’d thought they’d gotten to the point where being _friends_ superseded the vast difference in their rank, but apparently she’d been wrong. Well. Well, fine, she thought. Some things were just insurmountable to mere mortals. 

The comb was still in good condition. Probably hadn’t even been used, if Leonie guessed right. He probably took one look at it and sent it right back. Well, fine.

It wasn’t like there was anything _wrong_ with it, it was a perfectly nice—whatever. She held the up to the light, tilted it this way and that. It looked the same as when she’d bought it, she thought. Maybe a little less charming, maybe a little more cheap. Fine.

She—okay, she, uh. She sniffed it. She couldn’t have said why she did, but she held the comb next to her nose and inhaled and—just for a second, she thought she smelled Lorenz’s hair tonic, the one he’d shared with her and she’d shared with the Golden Does more than a year ago now. She inhaled again, but—no, it had to have been her imagination.

She chucked it into her bag, then fished it out and wrapped it in a handkerchief. No reason, just—maybe she’d send it home to her mom and sister after all. Maybe she’d keep it for herself. She was keeping her options open, she guessed. She didn’t notice as it slipped along the edge of her bag all the way down to the bottom.

He hadn’t sent back the other junk she’d sent him. Either they didn’t count as gifts being, arguably, trash she’d found on the ground, or he’d just dumped them in the midden and moved on with his life. Well. Fine. At least rocks and pressed flowers and interesting seeds cost nothing. 

She didn’t know what to make of the rest of the letter. She shoved it her bag as well. 

(Days later, she fished the stupid letter out again. It was bothering her. The language was ridiculous. It kind of—when she reread it again, and again, it reminded her of how Lorenz used to get worked into a tizzy about things that seemed like they shouldn’t matter, like everyone’s clothes or whatever allegedly nefarious thing Claude was up to lately. Well, the stupid thing was dated months ago so presumably he’d unwound from whatever twisted-up tangle he’d put himself into. She sighed. _Your friend, Lorenz._ Right.)

When the year was up, Leonie was ready to sign on for another term—the work was steady and the pay decent—but Raphael and Ignatz shared a look. They didn’t like working in the Kingdom, didn’t like being so far from home. Leonie couldn’t fault them for that, so the three of them returned to the Alliance. They stopped at Sauin, all three of them, and Odd was big now, as old as Skyla had been when Leonie had played sheepdog. Yetta was older too, obviously, _obviously_ her little brother and sister were growing up even when she wasn’t around to see it. They were more like niece and nephew to her than sibling, and that was… what it was. The house looked good, and her parents did too, comfortably fed. They’d used some of the money she sent home to have the fireplace niced up. Leonie would pay off her debt to the village sooner if she sent all her money to the headman, but she couldn’t not send some to her parents.

After Sauin, they swung up to Lewes, then down to Kierwall. Their reunion with Ignatz’s family was the shortest. Leonie and Raph got rooms at an inn while Ignatz stayed with his folks. It wasn’t until they were on the road again that Leonie realized that all the time they were in Lewes, Raph and Ignatz really kept themselves to themselves. When they were on the road—when they were in Sauin too, come to that—the three of them had a tendency to pile together like pups from the same litter, all leaning against each other and nudging each other out of the way. Leonie didn’t know what to make of the difference between how her friends acted in Lewes versus the rest of the world, or even if there was something to make of it. Maybe it was just a city thing.

Kierwall was the hardest city for them to leave. Leonie didn’t know Maya like Raphael and Ignatz did, obviously, but even she could recognize that the girl was growing up _smart_. Maya had more opportunities than the kids in Sauin did, but that didn’t mean her smarts weren’t going to waste. She seemed cheerful, though, talking about all the free lectures the scholars put on during the week and how she and her grandpa always went, how when it didn’t end too late they would stay and ask questions. Leonie had never heard of public lectures like what she was describing, but from what Maya said, they covered everything from ancient history to new uses for plants to the movement of the stars in the sky. They stayed long enough to go to one (it all went over Leonie’s head), and afterwards Leonie and Ignatz made it a point to mention to a few of the nice young scholars that they should try the food at the Happy Hog, get something to eat along with their conversation. She didn’t know if it would help but it was something to try.

After their—honestly _too long_ but extremely nice break, it was time to find another job.

It was harder this time around. 

The problem wasn’t that there wasn’t work, the problem was finding the kind of work Raphael and Ignatz were interested in. Most of the work these days was in the Kingdom—which seemed to be going from bad to worse—or near the border with the Empire, which was its own kind of tense. In the end, Raphael suggested they see if Hilda’s offer still stood, and off they went to Goneril.

Leonie wasn’t surprised by how it worked out. She’d known, the third or fourth time they’d turned down a decent offer with a good company, that it was about time for her to part with Raphael and Ignatz. It didn’t stop them from all trying to hug each other to death when Leonie left for Riegan, on a personal contract with Hilda, and Raphael and Ignatz stayed, looking strange in their Goneril armor. The Victors had wanted their son to become a knight, and Raphael saw it as a way to support his family using his natural talents. It wasn’t a tragedy that they were parting like this, not even close, but it was a little lonely: just Leonie and Daisy setting out again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: [oneletterdiff](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneletterdiff/pseuds/oneletterdiff) did an [_amazing piece of art_](https://twitter.com/oneletterdiff/status/1326628174768168961) and everyone should go see it and give them some love! It's completely dear and I love it T_T  
> \--  
> For those of you keeping track at home, yes, there is now a slight divergence the time covered each chapter by both fics. Imma bring it back together tho. Soonish!  
> \- Why did I make up a House name that has an ei and an ie? Because of my latent masochism *capers around the room*  
> \- I very briefly contemplated having Leonie "kidnap" Ignatz and go on the run, which goes to show that I do not know what I'm doing and cannot identify a bad idea on sight  
> \- If anyone knows of a Leonie, Ignatz, and Raphael roadtrip fic, let me know. _~~I'll give you my blood~~_ I'll thank you most sincerely. Gimme Ignatz staring starry-eyed at the scenery while Raphael looks for a promising restaurant and Leonie hums along to the radio  
> \- Next chapter: Leonie meets the parents, or something  
> \--  
> RECS  
> 1\. Drink something that contains neither alcohol nor caffeine. Captain Jeralt says, your body can't take care of you if you don't take care of it, and it wants to take care of you. It wants to be okay, and it wants you to be okay.  
> 2\. [fleche](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20606663) by mintables. _It's the first tournament of the season, but Dimitri's mind is anywhere but on fencing. It's not his fault Dedue is so distracting._ This is Dimitri/Dedue, and it is so goddamned fluffy and soft, I love it. Holy moly. (If you ever read my fic twitterpated, I was basically like 'wow that fencing AU was amazing. i wish i could--oh. birds?? maybe??' but fleche is so much _better_ , i love it)


	10. you want me to do what

One thing, as seemed to be inevitable, led to another. Leonie hand-delivered Hilda’s package to Claude, who turned around and offered her a one-off contract that involved visiting Gautier. Leonie had no idea Claude had business in Gautier, but hey, the pay was extremely good. He even put her up in the Riegan castle before she had to set off. 

Lysithea caught her before she left—apparently Lysithea was Claude’s lieutenant or something now?—and pressed a small package of her own into Leonie’s hands. She was grim-faced as she did so. She’d always been petite, but she was starting to look—oh, not brittle, but sharp around the edges, like the softness of youth was burning away faster for her than everyone else. Lysithea’s eyes were steady as she remarked that it could be dangerous for a woman traveling alone, even one as well-trained as Leonie. She tapped the package, and when Leonie opened it, she found a set of—jewelry? It looked like a set of simple cord bracelets, and a necklace, each with an odd little charm. 

“My research has been paying off, even with the interruptions the roundtable conferences represent. Break this charm,” she tapped a tapered charm on a purple cord, “And you’ll be moved, magically, a distance of about ten feet. You’ll move roughly in the direction the charm points. This one,” she tapped a fatter one with a pinch in the middle,“Twenty-five feet. And this,” she indicated the necklace, “One hundred yards, and it will issue a sending to a matching charm in my possession.” 

“Sweet Saint Cethleann, you can’t give me any of this. This is—how much did all of this cost to make?” Leonie demanded. Lysithea shrugged, which probably meant it cost more than Leonie had made in the last three years combined. “Really, Lysithea, you can’t give me any of this.”

“It’s less than whatever you’re imagining,” Lysithea sighed. “Certainly less than the cost of your _life._ If you really want to, think of it as a loan. You can give them back to me when you’re home.”

“Why are you doing this?” Leonie had to ask. Lysithea looked at her somberly. 

“I know what it’s like to be trapped in a bad situation. I’d rather it didn’t happen to any of my friends.” 

It was very different, traveling the kingdom alone instead of as part of a mercenary group. On the one hand, it was easier to find suitable campsites for a single person than a big group. On the other hand, she had to do everything herself instead of splitting the work. Also, the Holy ~~Kingdom~~ Dukedom of Faerghus was _cold_. Good grief.

Leonie made good time traveling to Gautier. She didn’t know what to make of the Margrave Gautier, who was as stern and forbidding as Sylvain had been carelessly flirtatious. She also didn’t know what to make of this new Sylvain, buried in wool and fur but missing some of the layers of artifice she was used to. Sylvain, she realized, was much sharper than he liked to let on. It was unsettling. She delivered Claude’s package and was hired to hand-deliver a message to the Fraldarius Dukedom. From there she made her way back to Derdriu—and was immediately dispatched across the border _again._ She spent months as a kind of cross between a wandering sword and a messenger, visiting what felt like every noble house in central and eastern Faerghus. It wasn’t exactly what she’d envisioned for herself, but it paid well and she was good at it. She was getting a little—it would be nice to sleep in the same bed twice, but that was what she’d signed on for. Life got a lot more comfortable when she obtained some furs of her own. 

After a particularly long stretch in the Kingdom (it would always be the Kingdom to her, she guessed, which was a dangerous habit of thought if you were traveling there), she returned to Riegan not to another job, but to an informal conference with Claude and Lysithea. Granted, it was allegedly a dinner between friends, and there was ample food and drink, but they were very interested in what was happening in the Kingdom. A lot of their questions centered around—Dimitri, and what had happened to him. Leonie hadn’t been anywhere near there at the time and couldn’t answer their questions.

When Leonie finally came out and asked what Claude and Lysithea were up to—because they were definitely up to something—her friends shared a look.

“How would you feel about a longer contract?” Claude asked.

“Pretty good, as you should know, which makes me think you’re planning to ask me something strange,” Leonie said. She took as sip of her wine, propped her chin in her hand. Asking Claude, again, to speak plainly was doomed to failure, so she might as well be comfortable while she waited.

“Did any of your travels take you to Fhirdiad?” Lysithea asked.

“Just once,” Leonie said. Claude and Lysithea shared another look. They wanted her to return to the Kingdom and take jobs in and around Fhirdiad. And write letters to Claude, or occasionally Lysithea. They _didn’t_ , they were very clear, want her _snooping around._ They just wanted her to watch and listen and write to them. Yeah, she could probably do that.

_My dearest pearl, my spring bloom,  
I walk in the city, and the flowers of the windowboxes remind me of you. There are violets in the lower city, and the softness of their petals reminds me of your touch. Forget-me-nots peek out here and there, but I could never forget you. Who could they be trying to remember? Everywhere geraniums seem to burst upon the eye. Their red blooms are a lady’s passion. The marigolds are my favorite. They are not as common as the others, but their sunshiney brightness almost matches the sparkle in your eyes. Other buds are tightly closed still, but I grow impatient. I hope they will be marigolds, and so I watch and wait. Darling, it is your love that sustains me, and I need no other food than this. Lover, set me in your heart and when you see the full, wild moon, know that I am looking at the same light.  
Be well and despair not. We will be reunited someday.  
Your Wildcat_

Stupid codes and stupider nicknames aside, Leonie did okay in Fhirdiad. Actually, she had a better time on this visit than she had the first time, which she suspected had to do with the fact that she showed up in furs and wool. Faerghans loved their furs. She wrote to Claude, she wrote to her family and Lorenz, she got hired to do things in and around Fhirdiad, and she got paid. Not bad. She even became something of a regular at an inn, which was less like having a home and more like having a base of operations, but still. It wasn’t bad.

Claude and Lysithea were apparently pleased enough with the Fhirdiad job that they paid her to try to replicate her efforts farther west, closer to the border with the Empire. This turned out to be a mistake. Things in the eastern part of the Kingdom weren’t great, but the west—no.

Leonie ended up using Lysithea’s necklace after all, which was followed by fleeing for the mountains on a possibly-broken leg, which was followed by—well, Leonie didn’t remember, exactly, as things got rather bad there for a while ( _careful, kid, you only get one body and it has to last your whole life_ ), but when she came back to her senses her leg was splinted and Marianne was there. In fact, even after Marianne arrived, Leonie didn’t really—remember. There was a certain amount of, uh, badness happening in Leonie’s body at that point, so yeah. But the gist was that Marianne had crossed the border on Hilda’s wyvern (Goddess and all saints, and since when had Marianne been learning to fly the beast?), found Leonie, and patched her up her. 

“But, because of all the secondary damage you’ve inflicted, I can’t just heal you outright because—” something something something, Leonie was barely conscious for this particular part of the reunion, but the upshot (that she understood a few days later) was that Leonie had managed to sustain more damage than Marianne’s magic could fix, and she was going to have to heal the old-fashioned way. Ouch. They flew only at night until they crossed the Oghma Mountains. Instead of dropping Leonie off at home, however, Marianne just kept going until they hit Goneril.

Hilda greeted them with a hug and kiss for Marianne and a lecture and guest suite for Leonie. Alright, apparently she was staying with the Gonerils for a while. 

Leonie got to know the Gonerils a bit too well, in her opinion.

For example, Leonie didn’t need to know that Hilda’s father Lord Gregor Goneril—not to put things too delicately—was gayer than a maypole. She didn’t need to know that his current lover was Markus, and she definitely didn’t need to see them kissing the tips of each other’s noses, although admittedly that was cute in a middle-aged kind of way. Leonie also didn’t need to know that Lady Gerlinde Goneril’s lover was Otto, or that she was the one who introduced Gregor and Markus because, and this was a quote, ‘he seemed much nicer than the last one, and Gregor was ready to find someone new, and I’ (meaning Lady Gerlinde) ‘love him dearly but he has terrible taste in men.’ 

Anyway, Lord and Lady Goneril were middle aged and cheerful and seemed like they got along well, and their lovers did too, so good for them. Leonie had the quiet thought that Lady Gerlinde was definitely the sort of woman to count the days on a calendar, make an intercourse checklist, and then arrange for refreshments when all the boxes had been checked. This was followed by the absolutely searing mental image of Lord and Lady Goneril, mercifully covered by a blanket, exchanging a friendly post-coital handshake, the kind of clap-and-handshake practiced by soldiers the world over.

Aside from possibly losing her entire mind because she was _bedbound_ and under strict healer’s orders not to even attempt to walk across the room until her leg had healed a little, Leonie’s time at Goneril was uneventful. She saw a lot of Hilda, obviously, and Marianne, Raphael, and Ignatz too. Leonie hadn’t had the opportunity to appreciate it earlier, but Marianne really did look good. She smiled, especially when Hilda was around, and she interrupted people when they needed interrupting and corrected people when they needed correcting. 

There were still kids around, too. The ones who could go back their their families, had. The ones who hadn’t—well, Hilda and Marianne hadn’t gone to all the trouble of getting them safely to Goneril only to abandon them in the street. Jobs had been found for the kids who were old enough, and the ones who weren’t were receiving training. Leonie didn’t know much about it, but Hilda said they were shaping up to be exemplary servants. It was steady work and put a roof over your head, and Leonie knew there were much worse things that happened to war orphans. They were learning to read and write, too, which was a good deal.

So Leonie got to see a lot of Hilda, Marianne, Ignatz, and Raphael. It was a little like being back in school, except she wasn’t allowed to walk anywhere and instead of training and going to classes Leonie sat in on meetings. Lysithea dropped by fairly regularly, maybe once a week, and Claude put in a couple of appearances too. Leonie ended up learning to make, like, woven cord jewelry, partly because she needed something to do and partly because Lysithea said if she learned to do it right it would help with the magic research. Lysithea still hadn’t even hinted at how much the necklace had cost, so Leonie set herself daily bracelet goals and developed macrame calluses to go with her archery, lance, and miscellaneous other skills calluses. 

“Letter for you,” Hilda said holding up said letter. Leonie brightened. Hilda was great, and her kids were fine, and her family was weird in an amiable way, but Leonie really did like getting letters. “Lorenz again. He writes every week, huh?”

“Does he?” Leonie asked, not really thinking as she opened it. “That’s nice.” It was a continuation of the Grain Tariffs Saga, which contained almost no actual policy—probably a good call, that stuff was probably supposed to say confidential or something—but did contain many, many details about the people at the table. Leonie had never met any of them and probably never would, but she sure knew who was passive aggressive and who thought being rude was the same as being forthright and plainspoken. Lorenz also told her about who was making ‘unique fashion choices,’ but Leonie had almost no frame of reference for those bits. She read them aloud to Hilda though, who normally got a good laugh out of them.

Leonie had been kind of hoping Lorenz would come visit the Gonerils. Gloucester and Goneril shared a border, and Hilda said she should invite him to visit while she was healing, but—it just didn’t work out. The Grain Tariffs Saga required the Gloucester men be present at the southern border, and, well, that was how it went sometimes. Still, she—she’d seen everyone else from their class. It would have been nice to see him too, that was all. 

After her leg was healed, Hilda kicked her out. Not really, but Hilda and the kids were going to visit the Edmund lands, and Leonie had her own family she hadn’t seen in a while, so they parted ways. Hilda was very clear that she expected to see Leonie back when she returned from Edmund, and Raph and Ignatz gave her hugs, and Marianne clasped her hand and promised to pray to the Goddess for easy travels for Leonie. 

Maybe it worked, too, because the trip home was so uneventful as to be _peaceful._ This was a good thing because Sauin, for all its charms, was only peaceful if one did not share a roof with one’s parents and nine- and ten-year-old siblings. 

It was also not peaceful if one arrived two days before a wedding.

Hettie was getting married. There were last-minute changes so she could ride Daisy as part of the ceremony. Alodie and some of the other kids wove flowers into Daisy’s mane and tail. Leonie’s contribution to this effort was helping keep Daisy calm (not that they needed it, she was a calm horse) and helping collect the flowers. She also helped, indirectly, by taking up some of the mending at home. 

“The boy Hettie’s marrying, do you know him?” It was late afternoon, and she and her mom were sewing. Leonie’s needlework wasn’t amazing, but it was good enough for reinforcing seams and whatnot. If Leonie did simple work like this, her mom was free to do the kind of fancy needlework she was so good at. The matching aprons she was embroidering were to be the Pinellis’ gift for the happy couple.

“No, but her aunt knows his grandmother,” her mom said, needle darting easily through the fabric.

“Their families worked it out?” Leonie asked. To her surprise, her mom shook her head. “Oh, really?” Love match, then. Good for Hettie.

“They met at the summer festival,” her mom said, smiling at her embroidery. “When her parents saw how many letters were flowing to and from Gosart, they knew.” 

“He’s from Gosart then,” Leonie said. She didn’t have to ask which village the new couple was going to live in. Sauin was hosting the wedding, which meant Hettie was moving to Gosart. Leonie’s mom nodded. “Do you ever wish—” Leonie began, then stopped because she didn’t know what she was going to ask. “Never mind.”

“I never minded a single thing in your life, Lee-Lee, out with it,” her mom said, nudging Leonie gently with her foot. Leonie shrugged, kept her eyes on her own stitches. “Do I ever wish…?”

“I dunno,” Leonie said. She bent her head like she really needed to _see_ the popped seam she was fixing. Her mother, being who she was, did not believe this for a second. 

“Do I ever wish I’d been the one to go and your father was the one who stayed?” she guessed. Leonie shrugged. “Do I ever wish we’d done it this way, with a love match?” 

“Do you?” Leonie asked. She’d never really thought about the question before, but the way her mother had just come out with it, maybe _she_ had thought about it, maybe—

“Not really,” her mom said. Well that was unilluminating. “You should ask your father, though.” Leonie honestly, truly could not help the look she gave her ma. Unhelpful. Her mom grinned, shrugged. “I got to stay here. It was easy to think of getting married as adding something new to my life. Dad left his village and everyone else behind.” 

“We visit,” Leonie pointed out. She’d met the other Pinellis. 

“We visit, Lee-Lee, but that’s really not the same. You know that,” her mom said kindly. Then she said, “You visit us, but you don’t really live here any more.”

“Oh. Yeah.” That was true, Leonie supposed, but it was—weird to hear. The next thing she knew, she was being hugged. She just about stabbed her own hand when her mom moved with no warning like that.

“You’ll always be my baby, though.” Aw, mom. “And no matter where you end up, you’ll always be from here. You know that.” 

“Love you too,” Leonie said. When the hug concluded and they were working again, she asked, “Your grandma arranged your marriage, right?”

“That’s right, Granny Fern. One of her friends was friends with Grandpa Pinelli, you know how it goes.” Leonie, in theory, knew how it went. 

“How did you feel when they asked you?” It was an asking, not a telling, in Sauin. There was pressure to give it a chance, but it had to be a suggestion, not a command. It had occurred to Leonie, these last few years, that some places did it differently. 

“Oh, I don’t know,” her mom sighed. “Nervous, probably, but excited too. I knew they were working on a match, and so it was exciting to find out who they’d chosen. Then we met again, and I thought, ‘Okay, this could work.’” She grinned, looking into the past. “Your dad had a horrible beard, just terrible. It looked awful, Lee-Lee, you can’t even imagine.” 

“Did you make him shave it?” Leonie asked. She’d never known her dad when he had a beard.

“I don’t make your father do anything, you know that,” her mom lied. Leonie couldn’t help her grin. Her mom grinned back, and then her face softened. “But he was so sweet, he realized I didn’t like it and shaved it off before the wedding. He wasn’t fancy, but he was so earnest. It easy to love him.” 

“How long…?” 

“Oh, I don’t know. Who knows when love arrives? But it was before you were born.” And since Leonie had been born nine months after their wedding, that narrowed it down considerably. Strange, that a love more than two decades old had taken root in fewer than nine months. Leonie’s mom nudged her foot. “You know, this is the most curiosity you’ve shown about our wedding since you were born. Something on your mind?” 

“No, ma,” Leonie sighed. Her mom gave her the ‘I’m only pretending to believe you’ look but changed the subject back to Hettie’s wedding. 

She did end up asking her dad. His answers were differently illuminating and differently useless. Leonie didn’t even know why she was asking, but that was no reason not to.

 _How did I feel when I knew I was getting married? Happy about it, and excited. I was sad to be leaving home, but I was more excited than anything else. It helped that your mom was the prettiest girl I ever saw._ Pfft, Dad. _Was it easy to fall in love? Well, tiger, I don’t know. I think there are some types of love you fall into, and there are other types you build. If you’re both working together towards it, I think it comes easier than you might expect._

“Yeah, it was hard leaving home,” her dad said when she asked. They’d carved out a little time to go fishing together, sitting at the edge of the water. They could’ve gone hunting, but although Leonie’s leg was healed it was never going to be the same. Leonie didn’t like to think about it. “Harder than anything else I’d done at that age, but you know that.” Leonie looked at him with confusion. She knew… what? “You’ve been back, what, three times these last years? That’s less often than we see my family.” She—hadn’t thought of it in those terms, but he wasn’t wrong. It made her feel—strange, that, and her mom saying that she was from Sauin but wasn’t of Sauin, it was—but both her parents were so matter-of-fact about it, so calm about it, it seemed silly to work herself up over it. So she sat with her dad, and they waited for the fish and savored the time.

The wedding itself was nice. Hettie seemed to glow with excitement, and her husband seemed like an earnest lad. Their dance was well enough—a little excited, a little shy, and ready to try together—but the dance that got Leonie was well into the festivities, when Hettie and Alodie were whirling together. Their heads were bowed together, and she was willing to bet that they were talking rapidly the whole time. Hettie and Alodie had always been inseparable, and Leonie was willing to bet that if Alodie’s family wasn’t already looking for a match in Gosart, they would be soon. She hoped they found one.

Thistle was there, and he asked her for a dance. He was taller than her now, but that had been inevitable, and he’d grown from gawky kid to gangly young man. He was, what, sixteen now? She made a mental note to ask her parents if anyone was looking out for him, since marriage was as good a way as anything else to get out from his father’s roof. Goddess, she was turning into an interfering old biddy before her time. 

Leonie enjoyed the wedding. Yetta braided flowers into her hair and taught her the steps to a new dance. Leonie knew her sister had done the embroidery on the collar of her dress herself, was honestly impressed by the quality of work. Her sister was growing into a talented, quietly confident girl, and that made Leonie feel helplessly glad. Auden was as loud and well-meaning as ever, was learning to make barrels, but he was at that stage where he wasn’t sure how to express his desire for attention and assert his own independence at the same time. He would appear at Leonie’s side, say a bunch of things, and then run off, and it was always up to Leonie to figure out if she was supposed to follow or be dutifully impressed by her brother’s brash manliness.

All her little monsters seemed like they were doing well, which filled Leonie with a sense of unearned pride. It was extremely awkward. The town had done the real work; Leonie had been part of the kids’ upbringing for almost no time at all. It was just—she loved her town, loved its people, felt good about coming from Sauin even though she’d left. Having someone say to her, ‘Oh, yes, we were _so_ glad Hettie found a match, eighteen is leaving it a bit late, you know?’ and then freezing awkwardly when they remembered they were talking to one of Sauin’s old maids was, uh, weird (to say nothing of her mercifully brief conversation with Thistle’s dad when she was pretty sure he was fishing to find out if she wanted to marry _him_ , ugh) but overall—she did like it here. It should have been harder to leave. But quickly enough, the outside world called, and it took almost no time at all to saddle her horse, hug her family, and return to the road.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Leonie is, without meaning to and without realizing it, becoming That One Friend Who Is On First Name Terms With Everyone’s Parents.  
> \- I’m pretty sure high fives aren’t a thing in Fodlan, but Leonie is 100% correct that the Gonerils used to engage in post-coital high fives, you know, when they engaged in coitus with each other to make heirs.  
> \- Leonie doesn’t have this point of reference either, but you should go ahead and imagine Mrs Goneril as looking like a coach, or a peppy gym teacher.  
> \- Sauin does arranged marriages, but it doesn't do forced marriages. This unfortunately is not the case everywhere. Across the continent marriages range from love matches to “soft” arranged marriages (like leonie’s parents, where their families work it out and they meet a few times before they get officially hitched), to “hard” arranged marriages (this is the “you’ve never met but you’re getting married”)  
> \- no one asked but Lorenz’s parents were a “hard” arranged marriage. Raph’s were too, but that one worked out pretty well. Ignatz’s were a love match, which is a bit unusual given their social standing/wealth. The higher up in society you go, the more likely you are to have an arranged marriage of some kind. Hilda’s parents were technically arranged but they played a big role in the arranging. Lysithea’s parents were a love match. The Edmunds were a hard arranged marriage, and they grew to genuinely love each other. And it probably goes without saying that Claude’s parents were a love match.  
> \- In Leonie's neck of the woods, which name gets passed on doesn't follow a strict patronymic model. Instead, whoever has to leave home, that's whose name the kids and spouse get. So Hettie's husband will take her name. Nobody asked for these details, but I've been incubating these chapters for a long time so here we are ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯  
> \- Next chapter: We're going to gamble it all on Leonie's surprisingly dainty feet


	11. dancing shoes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Almost five years after their graduation, Leonie once again let Hilda doll her up. The vast cosmetic wealth of the Gonerils sparkled at her.

Claude, as far as Leonie knew, was always up to something. He had been that way for as long as Leonie had known him. Lysithea, too, always seemed to be working on some project or another, and this wasn’t really a surprise either. It was a little stranger when it became apparent that Hilda and Marianne had some sort of scheme going on too, but eh. They were were all children of the Five Great Houses. Even when Claude and Lysithea were sending her hither and yon on slightly odd missions, Leonie didn’t try to dig into it. She cared about her friends, and she knew the Alliance needed taking care of, but Leonie showed up for the money. Not to be mercenary about it, but she was, well, a mercenary.

The more time she spent around Hilda and Marianne though, the more apparent it became that they were doing… something. Hilda was gathering people, bringing them in for some larger plan. There were her waifs and strays, of course, and there was Ignatz and Raphael, and there seemed to always be people from all over visiting Goneril these days. Leonie didn’t know how, or even if, this tied into whatever Claude and Lysithea were up to, but—well, once she returned to Goneril and let Hilda start paying her for jobs, she started to get the impression that there was a lot of coordination happening behind the scenes. She didn’t know what it was for, and if she was honest she mostly didn’t care. Hilda seemed to accept that, which Leonie appreciated.

Almost five years after their graduation, Leonie once again let Hilda doll her up. Marianne was away on one of her visits home. It was at once reminiscent of the bird dance and utterly unalike. Instead of cramming into Hilda’s dorm with the other girls, Leonie found herself the singular object of attention in Hilda’s powder room. The vast cosmetic wealth of the Gonerils sparkled at her. Instead of pulling on the formal uniform and calling it good, Leonie was obliged to let Hilda and her staff (such an exalted title for her waifs and strays) fuss at her, holding up swatch after swatch and dress after dress, conferring in low voices. Instead of splashing tonic in her hair and moving on with her life, Leonie obediently smeared creams and tonics and pastes and whatnots on her face, her hair, her arms, her _feet_? Hilda was the expert here, but that seemed odd.

Of course all these preparations were not for Leonie’s benefit, nor were they simply to appease Hilda’s aesthetic demands. They were going to absurd lengths because the ball being thrown to celebrate the Baron of Marlton’s wife was going to be attended by quote-unquote ‘all and sundry,’ which in this case included the Neities heir, Sir Theophilus Neities. Technically, Theophilus Neities hadn’t inherited control of his family seat, but the elder Neities had been developed a mysterious stomach ailment recently. Theophilus was, by all accounts and despite being a decade older than Leonie, not ready for the responsibility that ~~he really should have been preparing for~~ had been cruelly thrust upon him by fate. He much preferred drinking, buying clothes, and visiting the theater. It also happened that he had a thing for red hair. And feet. Leonie had both. 

“I’m not against prostituting myself for the war effort, but how far should I expect this thing to go?” Leonie asked. Almost everyone else she knew sold their time and talents in one way or another. She just wanted to know what she was in for. Hilda was experimenting with different ways to style Leonie’s hair, and then she, Leonie, was going to teach some of Hilda’s flock some tricks for riding in forested terrain. This would serve the dual purpose of seeing what her hairdo could stand up to and helping the kids with their riding skills.

“Not… too far,” Hilda said, fussing with some hair pins. Leonie gave Hilda a dry look in the mirror.

“I didn’t really like that pause, so could you maybe fill it in?” 

“How… do you feel… about possibly giving Theo a foot-job?”

“I don’t know what that is, so _wary,_ ” Leonie said.

Hilda kept fussing with the hair pins and asked, “How do you feel about using your foot to give a man an orgasm?”

“I don’t think that would work.”

“You haven’t met him. It’ll work,” Hilda said with a level of confidence that was almost ominous. She apparently found the _correct_ hair pin and proceeded to attack Leonie’s head. “But only if you’re willing.”

“How much clothing would I have to remove?” Leonie asked.

“At least one shoe. Possibly shoes and stockings. Everything else is up to you.”

“Well. Fine, I guess,” Leonie said.

Hilda dressed Leonie like they were preparing for battle. It was interesting to have that sort of intensity brought to bear on Leonie’s hair and make up. It made it all seem important in a way that Leonie hadn’t believed before. Leonie slipped into the stockings ( _silk_ imported across the border at staggering cost) and the dress (more expensive than anything Leonie had ever owned, more expensive than the stockings, more expensive than her _horse_ ) and refrained from fidgeting as Hilda adjusted the lay of the fabric. This done, Leonie was steered to a seat and subjected to further beautification at the ends of Hilda’s many and varied brushes, creams, and powders. Hilda also took the opportunity to pepper Leonie with questions, quizzing her on vital details such as Theophilus’s hobbies, favorite foods, close allies, and idols. Leonie answered each question without stumbling.

“Remember, if you get caught, just ask yourself what a flirtier, flightier Catherine would do,” Hilda said. A flirty, flighty _Thunder Catherine?_ Right. “Theo saw a bunch of plays about lady knights when he was young, and it definitely left an impression. And when I give the signal, take your hair down.”

“There is no way this will work,” Leonie mumbled. She winced when Hilda pinched her ear lobe. “Ugh.”

“It’ll work,” Hilda said. “But it will work _better_ if you believe it’ll work.”

“No one can possibly be this stupid,” Leonie complained. Hilda gave her a deeply sardonic look in the mirror.

Turned out, some people really were that stupid. Leonie didn’t have to say a thing, just let Hilda do all the talking. Leonie’s contribution amounted to smiling and laughing at Theophilus Neities’s jokes. Leonie had spent time with Alois; she was basically a master of smiling and laughing on command.

After a little time talking (flirting?) with Neities to soften him up (so to speak, ha) for Hilda, Leonie caught her friend’s (boss’s) signal that she should circulate the room. Okay. 

She was finishing up her first circuit of the room when—oh, no way. She would recognize that shade of purple anywhere.

“Hey, stranger, remember me?” she asked, tapping his elbow. Lorenz turned.

“ _Leonie._ ” He was staring a little, so she took the opportunity to look right back. He looked good. Wow, his hair was _long_ , and that was—it was a good look. Much better than in school. Leonie wanted to touch it, see if it was as soft as it looked. In deference to the ‘hoho there’s no war on, this is just a birthday party’ atmosphere, all the guests were in soft, impractical clothes, Lorenz (and Leonie) included. He was wearing a richly embroidered, high-necked jacket and very tight pants. Alright then.

“We have the same haircut again,” was what came out of Leonie’s mouth. He looked surprised, then smiled. Leonie grinned back. She was almost breathless with how glad she was to see him.

“What are you doing here?” he asked. This innocuous question caught her in the stomach, abruptly reminded Leonie of—everything. Despite the atmosphere the Baron of Marlton was trying to cultivate, there _was_ a war on, and Leonie did have things to do that took priority over catching up with Lorenz. That sucked.

“Oh, uh, Hilda brought me? We… Because of reasons, I ended up going back to Goneril, and the invitation came for this shindig, and yeah. So here I am,” Leonie said inadequately. If Hilda thought it was important for Lorenz to know what she was doing here, he wouldn’t have to ask. She still had the odd impulse to just… lay it all out. Huh.

“Well, whatever brought you here, I am grateful for it,” Lorenz said. Leonie did not know what to make of that. She smiled helplessly.

“Have you eaten anything?” she asked, “There’s some really good, uh, stuffed mushrooms. You’ll like them.”

“I have not,” Lorenz said seriously. “Please lead me to these fungi.” Leonie did, barely managing to remember not to point and not to put food from her plate onto his. If she blew this scheme by falling into old habits, Hilda would rip out her spine. 

Okay. Good manners, something something, non-dominant foot slightly back to look ladylike, elegantly extended fingers… Macuil’s teeth, Hilda’s lessons on ladylike deportment were ridiculous. Lorenz was giving her the side-eye, so Leonie distracted him by _elegantly and gracefully, not to mention demurely_ (she hoped) indicating that he should load up on the eggplant tarts too. They were delicious. Mmm. She helped herself, remembering to take _almost no food at all_ because that was good manners. Ugh. She glanced around the room, saw Hilda still speaking to Neities. By his body language, he was completely in thrall to her. She caught the eye of Hilda’s attendant (Leigh, one of Hilda’s strays, dressed well but not richly and blending in perfectly with the other servants), who nodded to indicate that she’d fetch Leonie if she was needed.

She followed Lorenz to the edge of the room, near the wall of double doors that had been thrown open to let in the night air.

“You look lovely,” he said. Huh. That was—the first time he’d ever complimented her appearance? Hilda’s tailors really knew what they were doing. 

“Thanks,” she managed. She was—she was blushing. She hadn’t even blushed when Hilda told her how to give a footjob. Maybe she was drunk. “You look great.” He nodded, and they stood looking at each other like a pair of idiots. He tucked his hair behind one ear, and Leonie couldn’t help but watch. It looked very soft. “Yeah, so, I’d take my hair down so you could see it’s the same as yours, but Hilda would kill me,” Leonie said, idiotically. _Definitely_ drunk. She’d only had a sip of her drink, but maybe it was some kind of super fancy, super efficient alcohol only nobles could afford.

“That won’t be necessary,” Lorenz said because he wasn’t drunk and wasn’t an idiot. “Where have you been the last few years?”

“Oh,” Leonie laughed, more out of relief than anything else, “All over the Alliance, and the Kingdom too.” After that—thank goodness—it was easy. They talked about different places within the Alliance, compared their experiences and impressions. Lorenz, Leonie was a little surprised to learn, had only left the Alliance for the first time when he attended Garreg Mach. This led her to try, with little success but many gesticulations, to describe some of the parts of the Kingdom she’d visited. This led him, in turn, to try to match up her memories with descriptions he’d read and paintings he’d seen. It was fun, somewhere between mutual boasting and working together to solve a puzzle.

And then, too soon, Leigh appeared behind Lorenz. She gestured minutely, and Leonie excused herself with sincere regrets to follow the girl to Hilda and Sir Neities. As she approached, Hilda gave her the signal. Leonie pasted on what she hoped was a winning smile as she—with a strictly internal sigh—took her hair down just the way Hilda taught her. Time to do her part for the war effort.

Either Hilda was better than they’d realized, or Theophilus Neities really was that easy to manipulate. Leonie only ended up taking her shoes off and walking around in her stockings. Apparently that was enough for Theophilus Neities to swear to vote in favor of whatever plan Claude was cooking up. Good grief. Leonie was _glad_ she wasn’t a noble because Leicester politics were ridiculous.

Anyway, job done, Leonie collected her shoes and let herself out of the room, leaving Hilda to outline the extremely dire consequences that would ensue if Sir Neities went back on his word. 

The musicians had started playing by the time Leonie made it back out. 

“Hey,” Leonie greeted when she made her way back to Lorenz again. He blushed when he looked at her. She didn’t exactly know what to make of his expression, but—she thought maybe she liked it. She hoped she wasn’t blushing herself. “I think I actually recognize this song. You wanna…?” She offered her hand to him. He… looked at her, slowly turning redder. The longer he looked, the more uncertain she became about whether it was a good thing. 

“Oh. Yes,” was all he said. Um, okay? 

Leonie would have been lying if she said it had been a while since she danced with anyone. In anticipation for this event, Hilda had Leonie dancing with as many partners as she could arrange. Being the daughter of the Goneril house, she was able to arrange for a _lot_ of partners. 

Nevertheless, Leonie felt oddly unprepared. Dancing at a dance: expected, ordinary, not alarming. Dancing with Lorenz, her friend she hadn’t seen in five years, who had grown his hair out and seemed to favor fussy expensive clothes that nevertheless still worked on him: not expected. Mildly alarming in the same way—no, wait, Leonie had no point of reference for this. It was, maybe, a little like when Marianne had bundled her onto the wyvern. There was that stomach-drop swoop, the heart-racing feeling of leaving the familiar ground behind, the onrushing feeling of something new—and underneath it all the dull pain of wishing the situation was different, that the world was different, that this could be exist on its own instead of being collateral delight during another job. 

Anyway, Leonie danced with Lorenz and managed not to step on his feet. Five years ago—twice, actually—they’d danced in the Great Hall in Garreg Mach. Marianne had been there, glittering and gorgeous (and then _not_ there, long gone into danger and the unknown) and Leonie had made Lorenz do as many spins and lifts as they could. That probably wouldn’t work tonight, more’s the pity. It was different, to be out of uniform, to be decked out in clothing she shouldn’t have dared to breathe on much less wear. The finery looked natural on Lorenz—inasmuch as anything so expensive could look natural anywhere—but it made Leonie feel distant from herself.

“I went to a wedding recently,” Leonie said. Someone needed to say something, and it might as well be her. “In my village. One of our girls married a boy from up the valley.”

“Oh?” Lorenz said. He inclined his head slightly, the better to hear her, and it made a strand of his hair escape from behind his ear. Leonie found herself looking at it. “Someone you knew?” 

“Town like that, it’s impossible not to know everyone,” Leonie admitted with a laugh. “We weren’t close, though, too much of an age difference. That was the last time I danced in public.”

“Ah,” Lorenz said, and smiled. “Would you say the atmosphere is greatly similar?”

“I would not,” Leonie said, grinning. “You ever been to a country wedding?” Lorenz shook his head, looked at her in invitation. “Well—I guess I only know how we do it up in Sauin. But there’s a feast, and dancing, and everyone wears—”

“Skirts, that I do remember,” Lorenz said. Leonie couldn’t help the way she smiled. “It’s hard to imagine.”

“It’s fun,” Leonie said. “When everyone’s dancing, it’s like—I don’t know, it’s colorful. Plus, in the summer all the kids make flower crowns and things.” 

“I cannot imagine you in a flower crown,” Lorenz said with fake solemnity. 

“I can imagine you in one,” Leonie said, stupidly. Lorenz—blushed. Leonie blushed. They were silent, and they danced, and they blushed. _Great._ It was true, though. With his hair down and an elaborate wreath he would look like a lord of summer. Or, given time, with his hair half braided and threaded with flowers, he would look like a fey creature out of myth. Ugh, Leonie was losing her entire mind apparently. She was still blushing, too. Good grief. 

“In your travels, did you have a favorite place to visit?” Lorenz asked politely because he was _not_ losing his entire mind, good for him. 

“Oh! Did you know Gautier has really good cheese? I know there was that poultry dish they used to make in the dining hall, but it wasn’t my favorite. But _in_ Gautier, Lorenz, you have to try it. The flavor is a lot milder, and the cheese melts really well, and it keeps you warm all day.” And in Gautier, they needed that. It was so good.

“Sounds good,” Lorenz said, smiling faintly.

“Good? Lorenz, it’s _amazing,_ if you go there, you have to try it. You will love it.” He would, she was sure. Unless his taste had changed dramatically in the intervening years, it was exactly the kind of thing he would enjoy.

“I’m not an enormous fan of Gautier cheese,” Lorenz admitted. He spun her. She smiled as she faced him again.

“This will change your mind,” she promised. If—when there was peace again, he should visit. There was a whole world out there, and she knew he would love it. 

“If you say so,” he said, still smiling. 

Leonie managed not to say anything too stupid for the rest of their dance. Bless Lorenz’s ridiculous purple head for picking such a good conversation topic. Leonie was surprised by how excited—and young—she felt, talking about all the places Lorenz should visit, the foods he should try there. It was pure silliness, of course. The continent was at war, and Gloucester needed its heir, and there was no way he’d remember all her recommendations by the time peace broke out, and even if he did go she wouldn’t be there to see his face. It was nice to pretend, though, just for a bit. He seemed to agree, if his smile was anything to go by.

Leonie was sorry to step off the dance floor and back into the general bustle of the hall. At least this time she didn’t have to take herself away immediately. She drifted behind Lorenz for a time, making conversation, until Leigh appeared in her peripheral vision. Neities was available now, and she did still owe him a dance. Better to get it over with. Leonie waited for a good moment to slip away, then made her way to Hilda’s new ally. 

Neities was an okay dancer, she supposed, but not exciting. The conversation was tedious. He made like he was talking about this play or opera, and then he would try to turn it into a line about how attractive Leonie was. It probably would have worked better with someone who’d actually seen any of the plays he talked about. But Leonie had a job to do, so she kept smiling, and nodding, and looking away (ugh) coyly. Hilda taught her a trick that involved tilting her head down and looking up at Neities through her lashes. It was cute when Hilda showed it to her, and it seemed to work on Neities. 

Possibly it worked too well. His hands wandered lower and lower. Leonie would have just suffered through it—stoically, like any good professional on a tedious job—but Hilda had foreseen this. She’d told Leonie that if this happened, she should bat her eyelashes at him, move his hand, and smile at him like this was all part of a game. It worked. If anything, it seemed to make him more desperate to flirt with her. Goddess and all Saints. 

Their dance came to an end. Neities squeezed Leonie’s ass once more before they left the fl—nevermind, he was still groping her. This dress cost more than all of Leonie’s possessions combined, and he was just _putting his hands_ all over it, that was the part that was fraying Leonie’s temper. She wanted to slap his hand and say _this is_ silk _, you clammy-handed oyster shucker._ But then Leigh was there, thank Cethleann, and she was leading Leonie away, and before Leonie went with her she made sure to do that thing with her hair that Hilda made her learn. She smiled at Neities and murmured _I do hope we’ll meet again soon._ He gaped like a landed fish.

Good grief, Leonie had no idea how the Alliance still stood if this was its future.

Leonie’s last job for Hilda might have been the best: tagging along as extra muscle while Ignatz and Raphael guided a group of Hilda’s flock to their new jobs. They were nervous or excited or serious, each according to their natures, but Leonie couldn’t detect any real fear in them. That was interesting. She guessed it helped that Hilda and Marianne had finagled positions for multiple kids in each household, so they wouldn’t be starting over alone, but it was still—they had a sense of purpose that Leonie liked to see. Good for them.

After that, well.

“I have another job for the Wildcat, and it’s a very important one,” Claude said. Leonie gave him a flat look but didn’t comment on the name. Ever since she’d come back to his service, he seemed to delight in sending Leonie across the Alliance to do this or that, all while making use of that stupid name. She had, at this point, saved a lot of towns from the attentions of bandits—or, closer to the southern border, Imperials pretending to be bandits—as “the Wildcat.” Yeesh. But she was also smart enough to figure out that the more she complained about it, the more fun it was for him.

“Where are you sending me this time?” she asked. Claude grinned, and the mischief on his face was just pure Claude, really. He grinned and passed her a folded paper. He was a fan of dramatics too. Leonie rolled her eyes and unfolded it. Her face didn’t move as she read it, but her brows wanted to rise. “...This one’s going to cost you.”

“Oh, I know,” Claude said, and produced—a sizable amount of money. Leonie had an idea of how much the Riegans had, though, so she didn’t react. “… And the other half when you finish the job.” Now Leonie grinned. Claude smiled and shrugged. “You’re getting expensive, anyone ever tell you that?”

“Yes, and I always enjoy it,” Leonie said. They hashed out a few details and Leonie left that night.

Leonie really needed to get around to learning to ride one of those flying animals, but it took time to learn and then she’d have to find and buy one, and then there was the cost of feed and equipment, plus there were logistical issues with lodging them in smaller cities, blah blah… Anyway, Leonie took a land route down the Oghmas. She didn’t stick to the high peaks the whole time—that would be more work than she was getting paid to do—but she did take a pretty meandering route on the Kingdom side of the mountains. Here and there she ambled into towns that were having bandit trouble and similar. She helped out where she could. That was the good thing about working for Claude, he was willing to take a pretty permissive view of what counted as an expense incurred in the execution of her duty. And… per his orders, on the rare occasion that people pushed for more than just her first name, she played the mysterious yet helpful stranger. Sigh. It was a little embarrassing, but it wasn’t like she was going around calling herself after some damn animal in a city, or Goddess forbid, anywhere near someone she knew. Claude probably got a little smile on his face and didn’t know why every time she used that stupid name.

She reached her destination and set about establishing herself as a reliable sword-for-hire. It was easier this time around, with her Faerghan furs and the handful of people who remembered her from the last time she was on this side of the Oghmas. And… she went back to writing regularly to her perpetually-unnamed dearest pearl and spring blossom, sincerely his wildcat. Good grief.

Leonie hardly considered herself a delicate soul, but—

Well, she thought, when the horror had subsided a little, the rumors were true. There was someone slaughtering Imperial soldiers. She’d been on her share of battlefields, and she’d served in search parties that turned into body retrievals, but—this was a bad one. She was grateful, in a way, that the Kingdom was such a cold land. To stumble into this scene in hot weather—no.

Leonie dismounted and knelt on the hard ground. Slush and mud and other things soaked through her pants and contributed to the general chill. Under the unbroken and unfeeling grey clouds, she put her hands together and bowed her head.

She was halfway through the prayer for the dead when it occurred to her that—that the Adrestian Emperor had declared war on the Church, that Edelgard had personally led an army against the Monastery, that maybe the Imperial soldiers she prayed for still held the Goddess in their hearts, but maybe they didn’t, and she had no way to know, so—shit. She appended an extra, awkward (and extra awkward) plea for understanding and kindness to her already theologically-shaky prayer for these dead strangers and waited in silence for a long moment. She didn’t hear the Goddess—she did know better than to expect parted clouds and a ringing voice—but she did hear wingbeats. She opened her eyes in time to see a flock of rose finches take to the air, flying south and west. Their bodies were small and unimaginably delicate, but they moved with bright energy. They stuck close to each other, a swirling mass. Leonie watched until distance made their forms disappear against the sullen clouds. Well. It was a bit late for winter migrations, but she had no doubt they’d make at least as far as the border without getting caught by the winter. That was probably as good as she was going to get. 

Leonie got to her feet, looked at the damage again. Still bad.

The rumors were true, at any rate. Someone was killing Imperial soldiers. He was pretty good (surprisingly good, possibly even distressingly good) at hiding his tracks, but Leonie had known how to hunt and track long before she even dreamed of leaving her village.

Dimitri looked like _shit._ And that was definitely, definitely Dimitri. He was missing an eye, and he moved differently, and he spoke to thin air, but there was no mistaking his identity. 

Leonie made herself scarce before he could notice her. She still hadn’t found out what she owed Lysithea for the necklace, and it made no sense to go doubling her debt when she could just—get away on her own.

She wrote to Claude, waited restlessly for his return letter. When it came, she almost wished it had been delayed. She’d had misgivings about jobs before, but not like this. Feeling uncertain about a job gave her a twitchy, nervous energy, made her pace or sharpen her weapons or scout out contingencies. It was, in its own way, helpful. _This_ feeling was—fear, dumb animal fear. Claude’s instructions were like pouring icewater into her blood; they made her hands shake and her heart pound, made her chest heave like she was already running.

She swore that if she pulled this off, Claude was going to make her the highest-paid mercenary on the whole _continent_. She wouldn’t give him a choice.

Okay, okay. Okay. Leonie had a job to do. Okay.

Leonie didn’t crumple the letter and she didn’t shout. She folded it back up, neatly, slipped it into her bag. She packed her things, she got her horse. She didn’t run. She was going to need her energy.

She and Daisy had an Imperial Army to bait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been so long since I updated T_T  
> 1\. You _must_ behold this [amazing piece of art](https://twitter.com/oneletterdiff/status/1326628174768168961), by the amazing [oneletterdiff](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneletterdiff/pseuds/oneletterdiff)  
> 2\. Having a foot fetish doesn't make a person laughable or worth mocking by any means. Neities should be mocked only because he's a damn fool and handsy too.  
> 3\. The birds referred to as "rose finches" are not intended to be any specific species, mostly because I didn't feel like squinting at migration data and the Fodlan calendar. But they look like house finches  
> \--  
> A scene that didn't make it in:  
> Leonie had to practice taking her hair down. Hilda _trained_ her.
> 
> “Not like that! You need to swish it more. No, now you look like a dog trying to dry off. Not that much, try again. That was closer, but not so side-to-side. No, now you—Claude! Show her how it’s done.”
> 
> Leonie watched tiredly at Claude mimed taking his hair down and shaking it out dramatically.
> 
> “See, even Claude can do it.”
> 
> “Did I ever tell you,” Claude said in a low voice, “How much I love the fact that Hilda bosses you around these days instead of me?”
> 
> “Now you have Lysithea do it instead,” Leonie whispered back. She tucked her hair back up in preparation for her next attempted hair reveal.
> 
> “She does not,” Claude objected.
> 
> Lysithea chose that moment to march into the room, arms full of papers, and say, “Claude!” She paused next to the table with her mouth open. Claude obediently fished a candy out of his pocket, unwrapped it, and popped it into her mouth. Lysithea nodded without looking up from her report.  
> \--  
> Next chapter: reunion at dawn, kinda


	12. Reunion & River

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> History would record it as yet another miracle among miracles—those that remarked upon it at all—that Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, Prince of Faerghus and rightful heir to the throne, just happened to chase a band of Imperial soldiers to the same place where the fate-touched Blue Lions Class of 1181 had planned to meet again, at the same time they’d planned to meet.

So the thing about Byleth Eisner was, miracles seemed to happen around her. It was just—that was just her, how things were. In the same way that some people seemed to be chronically unlucky, it seemed like the universe was willing to bend its own rules on Byleth’s behalf. 

History would record it as yet another miracle among miracles—those that remarked upon it at all—that Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, Prince of Faerghus and rightful heir to the throne, just happened to chase a band of Imperial soldiers to the same place where the fate-touched Blue Lions Class of 1181 had planned to meet again, at the same time they’d planned to meet. Maybe so. Maybe fate needed a little extra nudge here and there.

Or _maybe_ Leonie worked her butt off, risking life and limb, evading not only an entire contingent of Imperial soldiers but also the delusional prince chasing after _them_ , and she’d like a little credit, thank you. Or, if accolades weren’t an option, at least a pay bonus. Evading the determined pursuit of professional soldiers was one thing (and no minor thing at that), but keeping ahead of them _just enough_ to not get caught, while also staying close enough to seem worth chasing? And doubling back once in a while because they somehow lost Dimitri? Cethleann smile on her and Cichol keep her because that was _nervewracking._

“You look awful,” Hilda said when Leonie practically fell off her horse in front of her. Leonie glared tiredly.

“I need a drink.” Hilda failed to bring her one, but she did set her axe aside in favor of helping Leonie tend Daisy. Leonie supposed she could be forgiven. “Where are the others?” she asked. 

“Raphael is patrolling and Marianne and Ignatz are catching dinner,” Hilda said.

“You _do_ know what I’m doing here, right?” Leonie demanded, going cold all over at the thought of Dimitri or the Imperial soldiers coming upon her friends. “They were right behind me—”

“They’ll be fine,” Hilda said in the calm, soothing voice she used on horses and children. Leonie ground her teeth. “Leonie, really. They’re prepared.”

Hilda barely managed to keep Leonie at the camp long enough for Raphael to return whole and unharmed, heralding the others. Goddess forgive her, but Leonie couldn’t help the moment—just a moment—of alarm she felt caught sight of a huge, masculine shape approaching the camp. But of course it was just her friend.

“You made it!” Raphael said happily, making a beeline for her. She grinned in limp relief, then laughed as he hugged her and then _picked her up,_ the goof. She wrapped her arms around him as best she could under the circumstances. “We missed you!”

“I made it! I missed you too,” Leonie said, and they were still talking (and Raphael was still lifting her into the air) when Marianne and Ignatz emerged from the forest. Ignatz bore a pair of grouse and Marianne carried a line of fish.

“You made it! We missed you!” Ignatz exclaimed happily, and Leonie didn’t bother to stifle her laugh.

“I made it. I missed you too,” she said again, and now Raphael put her back on the ground—not for her own benefit, obviously, but so Ignatz could hug her too. Aw.

When the hug concluded, they helped Marianne and Hilda prepare the meat. Well, Raphael and Ignatz helped. Leonie was apparently forbidden from joining in, and instead she was left to languish by the campfire as her friends got on with the work.

She fell asleep and had to be woken when the food was ready. Well, okay, maybe it was possible that, on an extremely temporary basis, her time might be better spent resting than helping. Ugh. Hilda offered her the use of a tent, but Leonie was pretty sure that if she let herself actually sleep, she wouldn’t be waking up for a long time. Nice of Hilda to offer, though. 

She catnapped on and off for a bit. It restored her energy, which made her restless. Sitting around was making Leonie twitchy, and being twitchy was making her frustrated. She didn’t know exactly where Dimitri and the soldiers were, and that was a bad feeling. Goddess knew Leonie loved her friends, but their attitude towards the whole thing was grating on her nerves. She itched to—do something. Go looking for Dimitri, or go investigate the monastery, or check out the town. 

In the end, Hilda managed to keep her at their temporary camp long enough for night to fall. Once it was fully dark, they _finally_ crept closer to the town. They arrived in time to help Dimitri, the other Blue Lions (most of them), and Byleth Eisner (who was somehow _not_ dead) kill a lot of bandits.

Leonie had been in a lot of fights and faced a lot of bandits, but normally ‘taking care of bandits’ meant fighting them until they lost heart and fled. Yes, sometimes it meant killing some, but it didn’t usually involve chasing down and killing men in threadbare clothes who were trying to flee, _Dimitri._

Leonie fidgeted as the Blue Lions (most of them), their (alive somehow) professor, and a red-haired knight gathered to greet each other. Dimitri was talking about being a walking corpse when Hilda elbowed Leonie. Ow. That was going to bruise. She got the message though, schooled herself into attentive stillness while Dimitri explained that he lived because Dedue had sacrificed himself for his beloved prince. That—somehow, Leonie wasn’t surprised but she—she hadn’t known Dedue, not really, but she’d never known him to be anything other than quietly attentive and utterly devoted to his prince. To think of him giving his life for Dimitri—to see Dimitri as he was now—it left her cold.

She watched the color drain out of the Blue Lions’ faces, saw the way Marianne silently covered her mouth, how Hilda leaned against her side in silent support, saw sadness weight Raphael and Ignatz’s brows—and felt only cold. The icy feeling only grew as the knight implored Dimitri to lead them and take back the Faerghan throne. Dimitri “agreed” that the only solution was wholesale slaughter of the Imperials. Once, when Leonie was a little bit younger and a lot dumber, she’d stuck her head in a stream in Gautier to win a bet. It had been, obviously, a terrible idea, and she’d almost fallen in and her companions had bodily hauled her up and carried her indoors to eat cheese and be heartily patted on the back. The whole experience had been so short and overwhelming, she only really _experienced_ it afterwards, in memory as she sat under a pile of furs and cheerful Faerghans bought her drink after drink. What she’d remembered, sort of was this: she couldn’t breathe because she was under water, but she wouldn’t have wanted to anyway because it was so frigid it was like her whole body was trying to stop working until it was over. The flowing water had buffeted her head, pushed against her, muffled her hearing. She didn’t know why she was thinking of that just then, as she stood and listened to Dimitri demand blood, heads, generalized violence, and death for all persons associated with Edelgard and the Empire.

It was little comfort that the other Blue Lions seemed unsettled by their leader’s overt hunger for blood. Hilda, Marianne, Raphael and Ignatz were shaken by it, of course, but—the Blue Lions still seemed inclined to _follow_ Dimitri in spite of his palpable bloodlust. Leonie didn’t understand it. They had seemed reasonable enough in school—then again, Dimitri had seemed polite and reasonable, right up until he hadn’t, so perhaps that line of thinking was fruitless.

It was frustrating. After the reunion, Hilda, whose absence would be remarked upon if she stayed too long, departed. Marianne, being another heir of one of the Five Great Houses, left as well. Leonie, Raphael, and Ignatz stayed. They helped the Blue Lions—and the remnants of the Church, and the Knights of Seiros, and assorted other hangers-on—repel an attack by Imperial forces. They pitched in with chores and helped with ongoing efforts to restore the monastery. Leonie watched as Raphael and Ignatz were welcomed into the Blue Lions’ fold. It wasn’t surprising. Her friends were naturally likable, agreeable and kind. Leonie, on the other hand… Hm.

It took some time, but Leonie caught Professor Eisner during one of the rare moments she was alone. Goddess, the other woman had hardly aged a day. It was unnatural.

“Professor Eisner, I have something I want to say to you,” Leonie said. Although the professor’s expression was neutral, her movements betrayed watchfulness.

“Just Byleth is fine,” she said.

“Byleth, then,” Leonie said, suppressing a wince at how weird it was to say, “I have something to say.” 

“I’m listening,” Byleth said.

“...Somewhere, uh, more private? Please?” Leonie suggested. Byleth nodded, and they walked until they found an unoccupied courtyard. Leonie spared a second to mentally note that the plants were wildly overgrown, but the whole thing could probably be brought back in hand easily enough with a little elbow grease. She didn’t know much about fancy ornamental plants, but some of the people now occupying the monastery surely did, and yes, thinking about this was certainly a last-ditch attempt to not think about what she was supposed to be doing. Leonie took a deep breath and looked at Byleth. “I owe you an apology. Five years ago, I said you didn’t appreciate your own father, and that was wrong of me. It wasn’t true, and I never should have said that. I’m sorry.” There were more words that wanted to escape—how she had been distraught, how she’d never lost anyone before, not like that, how she wasn’t thinking clearly—but they were excuses, and paltry ones. She waited. 

Byleth didn’t say anything at first. The winter clouds gave the daylight a curiously flat quality, and in this unlovely light, Byleth looked—ordinary and human. She looked levelly at Leonie, who struggled to return her gaze.

“My father’s death was the hardest thing that ever happened to me, and it came at a time when I had more responsibilities than I had ever known,” she said. Leonie—felt terrible. She’d known that, but hearing it—she nodded and looked at the ground. “What you said was hurtful, and I was already hurting.”

“I’m sorry,” Leonie said uselessly. “Is there—anything I can do to make it up to you?” There wasn’t, she knew that, the only way she could make it right would be turn back time itself, and that just wasn’t possible—

“Maybe,” Byleth said. Leonie tore her gaze from the ground to stare. Byleth was looking slightly off to the side, looking vaguely thoughtful. “Come to the training yard with me. I think I’m out of practice.”

“Anything,” Leonie said. 

Leonie was not at all surprised that Byleth had been lying. She was not at all rusty; if anything, the intervening five years had honed her skill to an even finer edge than that of the Sword of the Creator—which she was currently using against Leonie. Cichol witness it, she was fast. Leonie narrowly deflected another blow and jabbed just enough to force the other woman to _stop attacking long enough to dodge._ Dang.

Leonie didn’t actually mind what was happening. Admittedly, her pride didn’t love the fact that Byleth was wiping the floor with her, and her competitive side (some would say that Leonie was all competitive side, and fair enough) was trying to get embarrassed that it had been five years and Byleth was still so much better than her, but really, Leonie had earned this, and—well, testing her mettle against Jeralt’s own child, the Ashen Demon, was a rare opportunity. Leonie feinted and managed to score a single strike against Byleth, who countered with a blow so powerful that if Leonie had tried to block it she’d probably have lost right then. Leonie, not being stupid, dodged instead, took a gamble on another quick strike. 

It was a bad gamble. The point of Byleth’s blade caught her on the retract ( _Goddess,_ how was Leonie supposed to hone her skill against a weapon that no one else even owned—come to that, how in the world did Byleth practice with the thing? She’d been strict about training with live weaponry in the Academy, and—) and while blood was dripping into Leonie’s eye and obscuring her vision, Byleth brought the sword in a powerful-but-slow overhead strike.

Emphasis on the _powerful,_ ow. The impact felt like it jarred Leonie’s whole body. While she was staggering to recover, Byleth kicked her in the stomach, sending her to the ground. Shit, Leonie thought as she wheezed, she had forgotten how much reach the woman got with her legs. Maybe all her own years on horseback had made her weak. 

Byleth set her blade at Leonie’s neck.

“Yield,” she commanded. Leonie, still wheezing, tapped out.

The sword at her throat disappeared. Byleth produced a cloth from somewhere and pushed Leonie’s hair out of the way to wipe at the blood now glazing half of Leonie’s face. Wonderful. 

“You’re forgiven,” Byleth said easily, for all the world as if she was just continuing a conversation, and in a way she was. Leonie laughed. Byleth smiled faintly, stood, and helped Leonie to her feet. She even helped Leonie brush the worst of the dirt off her clothes. “Good match,” she said. “You’ve improved.”

“You… think so?” Leonie asked (wheezed). That was—that was nice. “I’ve been… working… I still do the… stretches you taught us…” She and Byleth walked from the training hall, and Byleth shared her insights into the match and what had gone well or badly while Leonie listened. Despite her well-earned soreness (she would find a perfectly boot-shaped bruise on her stomach that night) Leonie felt lighter when they parted, Byleth for another of her endless meetings, and Leonie for rubble clearing duty.

“What happened to you?” Ignatz demanded when she showed up. 

“Huh?” Her friend pointed to his own face, just above his eye. “Oh. Byleth beat me in a fight.”

“ _Byleth_ did that? You could have lost an eye,” he said. 

Felix was passing by at that exact moment, and decided to voice his opinion on the matter: “That’s stupid. If the professor had wanted to take her eye out, she would have.” That made sense to Leonie, but it didn’t seem to calm Ignatz down any.

Other than that, Leonie didn’t really grow closer to the Blue Lions. She sat in on meetings, she took care of her duties, she volunteered to help out, but—well. She was an outsider here, and while to a certain extent she was used to being an outsider (poor, a commoner, always traveling here and there) the thought of trying to grow closer to the Blue Lions was tiring. There was still Felix though.

“So,” she said when they were out gathering wood one day. “Dimitri, huh?”

“Don’t speak to me of that creature,” he nearly spat. Leonie thought of Felix standing watch over Dimitri as he muttered to himself in the cathedral. She watched Dimitri too, but it was out of a general desire to know where he was at all times. Felix, for all that he’d deny it, watched him out of a more personal concern—for the person he used to be, if nothing else. 

“Alright then,” she said. They forged deeper into the woods.

“…when I call him a boar,” Felix muttered not long later, completely unprompted, “Everyone looks away. Except Ingrid, but even she objects more for reasons of propriety than anything else.” He said ‘propriety’ like it disgusted him, and maybe it did. Leonie stayed quiet. She’d never really known how to feel about Felix’s name for his—for Dimitri, and now that she’d seen the side of the prince that had inspired the, uh, appellation she actually found it less fitting. A boar always was what it was; there was no mistaking it for a rabbit or a fox or a sparrow. Dimitri, though—he was a man, and there were moments when he seemed almost harmless. (She remembered him kneeling in a snowy forest, pleading with no one for patience, begging thin air to leave him alone. She hadn’t lingered, obviously, having a healthy respect for her own skin, but the ragged despair in his voice had stayed with her.) As far as Leonie was concerned, it was the ones who looked human that you had to look out for. 

Felix looked at her now. “You’ve seen his handiwork.”

“I guess,” she said. She hesitated. She didn’t need to know, it wasn’t her business, but… “When did you first…?”

“The Rebellion of 1178,” Felix said flatly. In a sneer, he added, “I was the boar’s squire. It was an honor, or so I was told.” Leonie did some math in her head. He’d have been… fourteen, fifteen? She grimaced. She’d been about that age when she’d met Jeralt, meaning she’d seen the sort of violence bandits committed, but nothing on the level with what Felix would have seen. (Nothing approaching what Dimitri would have seen in Duscur.) 

“Fuck,” Leonie said without meaning to. Felix laughed, a single dry sound.

“Well put,” he said and rolled his eyes. They pressed deeper into the forest.

Leonie wrote to Lorenz, obviously, but it was difficult. All the things she wanted to say were things she had no business committing to paper—Dimitri and Byleth and the way the Blue Lions wrung their hands but spoke like they had no choice but to follow Dimitri—and everything else was stupid. She did her best.

 _Dear Lorenz,_ she wanted to write.  
_Is there something wrong with Fhairgans? It’s like the concept of having a good ruler who isn’t a Bladidd can’t exist in their heads. I thought the Alliance was a mess, but Macuil’s teeth, I’m worried about the Kingdom. I understand that it’s not my problem, but they are our neighbors, and between them and the Empire… yikes._

Instead she wrote to him about a fish she caught. 

There were three good things about being at the monastery. One: she got her mail more often. She couldn’t ask Lorenz to send his letters to Garreg Mach, that would make their current operations a bit too obvious, but Sauin Village wasn’t far, and it wasn’t too far out of the way for people traveling—just as a random example—to and from Derdriu on wyvern. It was nice to read his letters more or less as they were written, instead of waiting months to receive a single stack. Two: she got to see Ignatz and Raphael again. Three: she got to sleep in the same bed over and over. Sleeping in the same place night after night and week after week was massively underrated. Oh, and it was even indoors, too, and she could leave some of her things there. Pure luxury. 

She was looking for a place to stash a few of her things when she opened a drawer and saw—huh. 

She held up the handkerchief. After Lorenz had loaned it to her as a makeshift bandage, she’d washed it but never given it back.

It was nice, finer than anything her family had ever owned. It was silk, she could recognize that much. The embroidery on it was exceptionally fine, not just skillfully done but the embroidery floss was _expensive._ The whole thing spoke loudly of money, and she’d shoved it in a drawer and forgotten about it. Huh. Well, in her defense, a war had broken out and they’d had to evacuate in a hurry. Still. 

She had no idea what to do with the handkerchief. She could send it back, but—well, it wouldn’t count as a gift if she was just returning his property to him, so that was fine. However, she wasn’t sure how to explain finding it again without revealing her location. Ugh. She could claim it was in her stuff the whole time? And she’d never found it? Or she’d just been… carrying it around for _five years_ before she decided to return it? Hm.

Or she could shove it back in the drawer and deal with it later. That was probably the best option. Honestly, she could probably keep it or sell it or use it and he wouldn’t care. Having seen how Alliance nobles lived, she knew he probably didn’t even remember the stupid thing any more. She ran her fingers lightly over it—Goddess, but it was soft—and put it back in the drawer.

Leonie liked getting mail from Lorenz. Even if she couldn’t write to him about how she spent her days and what she worried about at night (not that Leonie was a worrier; but sometimes, before sleep found her, her thoughts took on a certain… pattern) getting letters from Lorenz made her feel better. She could still hear the intonation of his voice, could still picture the expression on his face as he wrote to her about this and that. There was something very relaxing about it, like she could read his letters and, just for a few moments, visit a world where things were somewhat normal.

Notes about Ailell: it sucked. It would not be going on her list of recommended travel destinations.

Notes about Felix’s dad: he wasn’t as bad as Felix made him out to be, but Leonie had known that already. He smiled when he saw her, even greeted her by name. Boy, that was weird, Duke Fraldarius of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus remembered her _name_. 

“Leonie, good to see you again. You look well.” He and Felix were standing slightly apart from the crowd when Leonie had gone over to let Felix know he was needed.

“Thank you, sir,” Leonie said, bobbing a quick bow. He laughed—and Felix looked pained—and waved this away.

“Call me Rodrigue,” he said. “And…” there was a sparkle in his eyes that told Leonie what he was about to say just before he said it, “Do I have the honor of addressing the Wildcat herself?” Fuck.

“What did you call her?” Felix interjected, looking distrustful and disgusted.

“It’s nothing,” Leonie started to say.

Unfortunately, at the same time, Rodrigue turned to his son and said, “You don’t remember? Earlier this year we got a handful of reports that a mysterious figure—” 

“Felix, we gotta go. Mercedes and Annette need you for something,” Leonie tried to interrupt (now she was _interrupting_ Duke Fraldarius, good grief).

“—our territory, helping towns and refusing payment—” 

“It seemed like it was important so we should go now,” Leonie continued loudly. She put her hands on Felix’s back and pushed him in the direction of the Blue Lions. “Let’s go, now, nice to see you again, sir!” When they were away, she said, “I think it had something to do with provisioning the magic corps.”

“… Do you go by ‘Wildcat’ now?” Felix asked. Leonie groaned. 

“Nope, and let’s not say anything else about it,” she said. 

“Fine,” Felix said. That was the good thing about Felix, Leonie supposed: when he didn’t care, he really, truly didn’t care. “...Why a cat name?” Leonie groaned from the bottom of her heart. Felix was right; his father was the worst.

So Fhirdiad, the Kingdom capital, was under the thumb of the Empire. There were several strong arguments in favor of retaking the capital before marching on the Empire. Meanwhile, Dimitri’s argument in favor of attacking Enbarr immediately could be summarized as “I want to.” 

Obviously, planning the march on Enbarr started that night. Leonie was going to pull her hair out. 

The Fraldarius troops swelled their ranks considerably. Having a larger force to command meant that the amount of logistical wrangling involved went up dramatically. In this particular case, that was something of a blessing because it gave Leonie time to write to Claude. Instead of sending back a letter, Claude sent… Lysithea? Eventually Leonie was going to stop being surprised by Claude, but that day was not today.

Lysithea, bless her from top to toes, took one look at the Blue Lions leadership situation and just plunged in. Apparently doing… whatever it was she did for Claude for all those years had prepared her to moderate some of the stupider ideas the Kingdom army came up with. It wasn’t enough to call off the march on Enbarr, but nothing short of divine intervention would have done that. She did persuade them that the best hope for a stealthy approach would be to take advantage of a local guide with knowledge of the terrain.

“When’d you have time to pick up a local guide?” Leonie asked later.

“That’s you, Wildcat,” Lysithea sighed.

“Oh,” Leonie said.

“Can you plot a route down the Oghmas and through Gloucester that will take us to Myrddin? We need to avoid as many people as we can.” Lysithea pressed. 

“Sure, but Erdola is closer,” Leonie said. Lysithea shook her head.

“It’s too narrow, and then you—”

“The mountain pass, right,” Leonie sighed. Anyone crossing the Erdola would enter the Empire in the near the bottom of a mountain pass. It was a great place if you wanted to keep outsiders from invading your home, but not a great place to lead an army into a hostile land. The Myrddin was wider and wouldn’t put their army into a kill zone. “Yeah, I think I can plot a route from here to the Myrddin. What about that guy, though? The bridge guy?” 

“Pfft. Don’t worry about him,” Lysithea said. Leonie nodded. Okay, she wouldn’t. She and Lysithea pored over the map, and when they were done Leonie accompanied her to the war council. Leonie hadn’t taken such an active role so far, but she thought that most of the council seemed relieved to have something resembling a plan for moving the army. Alright. No pressure.

Their march through the Oghmas and to the bridge went smoothly to the point where it was almost eerie. Yes, they had put a lot of time and effort into planning and mapping out contingencies, but still—nothing happened that they hadn’t predicted. Maybe it was the Byleth effect. 

Lysithea rode on Leonie’s horse for the first stretch of the journey. Therefore, when Leonie muttered, “Mythic,” to herself, she really shouldn’t have been surprised when Lysithea’s voice came back in her ear. 

“You don’t really believe in stories like that, do you? Kings returning from the dead to save the kingdom when they’re needed the most?”

“Of course not,” Leonie said, “But I think something about Byleth makes people believe in that.”

“You know,” Lysithea said thoughtfully, “You may be right. When Claude sent you to find Dimitri, I was against it. He said it was just hedging his bets to make sure there were representatives from the Alliance at the Kingdom students’ meet-up, in case they were cooking something up that we wanted to be part of, but… I think he really believed that something important was going to happen there.”

“You will never convince me that Claude knew Byleth was going to dig herself out from a pile of rubble and rally the Kingdom and the Church around her,” Leonie said.

“Where do you think she was all this time?” Lysithea asked.

“Well… there are unnatural sleeps, right, like when you have a high fever or get badly hurt?”

“A coma. But for five years, she’d need someone to look after her.”

“Maybe she got hit on the head and lost her memory?” Leonie speculated. “She was always vague on her childhood anyway.”

“Oh, maybe she got amnesia and some village took her in until her memories came back,” Lysithea said. “Maybe.” 

“Maybe the Goddess herself reached out her hand and took her into the sky, but when her students needed her she returned,” Leonie joked. Lysithea snorted softly. They rode on.

They approached the Bridge of Myrddin. It was massive, a testament to what humans could accomplish given time and training. The hungry Airmid River had carved away its banks for thousands of years, and the resulting chasm was an illustration of the unrelenting power of nature. Looking at the massive structure spanning the river canyon filled Leonie with a moment of awe at the sheer audacity of the project. Then, too soon, it was time.

Taking the Bridge of Myrddin wasn’t easy, but it was a grind rather than a struggle. The grind was punctuated by a few notable moments. 

First: maybe Leonie should shut up about them not being in some kind of legend because Dedue marked the _third_ person to return from the dead during this campaign. The cheers of the other Blue Lions (sans Dimitri) brought a smile to Leonie’s face.

Second: in spite of her best efforts (and in line with Claude’s secret instructions as conveyed by Lysithea), Leonie failed to capture Ferdinand von Aegir, and he escaped. Drat and curses, and so on. (It was _hard_ to get the guy to the point where he actually took the opening and ran, instead of staying to fight. Goddess save Leonie from stupid nobles and their stupid honor. And doing it without being seen, branded as a traitor, and summarily killed by Prince Dimitri? This war was bringing a lot of stress into Leonie’s life. Yeesh.)

Third: When the Empire forces broke and ran, it was Dedue who stopped Dimitri from pursuing them. Unlike every other time someone had attempted this, this did not result in a hissed tirade about blood and the demands of the dead. Instead, Dimitri just… stared at Dedue. Well okay then. Leonie looked away. Some things were just too personal to watch. 

Lysithea and Cyril headed north before they actually took the bridge. After it was theirs, Claude, Hilda and Marianne rode for Gloucester, accompanied by Annette and Ingrid. The idea was to show Count Gloucester that the Alliance nobles (the important ones anyway) were in agreement about what should happen next, and they had the backing of the Kingdom nobles to boot. Leonie, Raphael and Ignatz stayed with the rest of the army to help get things ready for the push into the Empire. Claude and the others returned without incident (but with Lysithea) and the army moved on.

For reasons that did not require examination, Leonie lingered with the garrison assigned to man the bridge until the Gloucester forces arrived to take over. She was taking the opportunity to admire the view—the way everything just dropped away all the way to the ribbon of water below was breathtaking in the best way—when Lorenz showed up. 

“Leonie!” he called. She was already smiling as she turned to see him. His armor was… very purple, wow. Okay. She grinned as she hopped off her perch and went to greet him. 

“Lorenz! I was hoping you’d show up. You’re with us now?” she asked. His armor precluded any kind of friendly hug, so she settled for clapping him on the shoulder. It was good to see him.

“I certainly am,” he confirmed.

“I’m glad! I actually volunteered to stick around because I thought you’d be coming soon,” Leonie’s mouth said for her. Welp. Time to go. Leonie caught the eye of one of the Kingdom soldiers and hastened to inform him that the Count’s—Duke’s, apparently—son had arrived with reinforcements. A little more than half of Gloucester’s troops would stay to man the bridge alongside a token garrison from the Kingdom Army. The rest of the Gloucester troops would be following Leonie and Lorenz into the Empire. Leonie and the officers hashed out the logistics of the bridge trade-off, established the approximate route the troops should take to catch up with Lorenz and herself when all that was taken care of, and then it was time to go. 

The sun was creeping lower in the sky, afternoon giving way to evening, when they left. Leonie enjoyed the feel of the wind and the sound it made as it passed over the grass. The sky was cloudy, but Lorenz’s armor gleamed even in the muted light. His hair looked like a banner when the wind caught it, not that it mattered or that she noticed or anything. Whoops. Leonie trained her eyes back on the road ahead.

They didn’t have time to catch up with the army before night caught them, so they made camp. Since the troops from the bridge hadn’t caught up with them yet, it was a two-person camp. Leonie knew that making good time was important, and she regretted being separated from their allies, but there was something almost… nice about the evening. It had been a while since she’d spent the night outside without the army around. They didn’t want to risk a fire, so they made do with cold rations (Lorenz’s rations were _amazing_ , traveling with a noble sure had its perks) and Leonie’s collection of furs. In the early evening, as their horses grazed nearby, they sat and watched the sky darken.

“Are you sure you don’t need—” Lorenz started to ask again, fidgeting under his borrowed fur.

“It’s fine,” Leonie said again. “I really don’t need more than this for Lone Moon.” Especially not as far south as they were. She flapped her own fur at him.

“These are from your time in Faerghus?” Lorenz asked. He ran his fingers over the thick fur. It wasn’t the first time Leonie had seen him do it. He probably wasn’t used to the sensation, the Alliance being generally warmer and animal skins being unfashionable.

“These saved my life in Faerghus,” Leonie laughed. “More than once.” She watched him wrap the fur more closely around himself.

“Did you get… in Faeghus as well?” he asked, and touched his forehead above one eye. Leonie brought her hand up to her own face—oh, her scar. 

“Oh, this,” she said. “No, that was more recent. Byleth gave it to me.”

“ _Professor Eisner?_ What could have possessed her?”

“Oh, we were practicing,” Leonie said vaguely. She half-expected him to raise a fuss like Ignatz had, but instead—he shrugged one arm out from under his borrowed fur and reached for her. She felt herself go very still. 

“May I?” he asked. She nodded. Lorenz brushed her bangs out of the way, and then his other hand was free and gently tilting her head to the side. His hands were warm. “It’s very close to your eye,” he said disapprovingly. “She could have done irreparable damage.”

“It’s Byleth. If she wanted to take my eye out, she would have,” Leonie said without hearing herself. She felt very—she couldn’t remember the last time she had been looked at so closely. As his fingers brushed over the well-healed line, she was aware of how soft his skin was. Her own hands were rough and calloused, and normally she liked that, but for a moment she wondered was it would be like to be—different from what she was. It wasn’t exactly a comfortable thought. 

“Tch. She should never have risked it,” Lorenz said. In the fading light, Leonie could just make out his nettled expression, the little crease between his brows. He scooted closer, peered more closely at the scar. “At least it healed cleanly,” he muttered. “But it shouldn’t have been allowed to scar at all. Where was the healer?”

“I wasn’t going to bother anyone for a little scratch.” He brushed her hair back again. Leonie felt strangely warm and her breath was almost fluttery. She found herself looking at the Lorenz’s cheek, his jaw, his mouth, anywhere but his eyes. 

“You probably thought the scar would make you look more like Jeralt,” he accused, and the strange feeling broke. Leonie laughed.

“You know, it actually never occurred to me?” she said. “But thanks, Lorenz, I like it more now.” She grinned. Lorenz made a scoffing noise and took his hands back.

As he wrapped himself back up in the fur, he muttered, “You are impossible.” Leonie smiled with all her teeth and tilted her face up to the sky. The clouds from earlier in the day had dissipated, and the crescent moon smiled at them. Oh, the first star was already out too. Pretty.

“Not impossible, just outside your reckoning,” she joked. Lorenz made a disgruntled noise, and they watched the rest of the stars come out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun facts ~~that will make you lose all respect for me~~  
>  \- When Rodrigue calls Leonie "Wildcat," Felix's first, horrible thought is that this is some kind of sex nickname. The train of thought is "Who uses nicknames? 1) Children, 2) people who are related to each other, and 3) people who are having sex," and well...  
> \- I just think it's funny for Felix to make fun of someone else having a cat name. Oh, Felix.  
> \- "Talking about your feelings in the worst. It's so much easier to just swing a sword about your feelings instead." - Byleth, Felix, and Leonie, probably.  
> \--  
> REC  
> [this fun, silly kinkmeme fill which can be summarized as "shirtless monastery times"](https://3houseskinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/2082.html?thread=3560738&posted=1#cmt3599138)  
> \--  
> Next chapter: Rodrigue is in this one too! :D


	13. stolen days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Second Battle of Gronder Field was, not to put too fine a point on it, a literal non-event. Some sort of botched assassination attempt caused a change of plans. Oh, and Duke Fraldarius almost died, which was a feat considering how many powerful white magic users were marching with the army.

The Second Battle of Gronder Field was, not to put too fine a point on it, a literal non-event. Some sort of botched assassination attempt caused a change of plans. Oh, and Duke Fraldarius almost died, which was a feat considering how many powerful white magic users were marching with the army. The shock, combined with the need to get the Duke back for, like, _medical_ medical attention, meant that Lorenz and Leonie encountered the Kingdom Army doubling back to the Bridge of Myrddin. Well okay then. 

Leonie wouldn’t learn this until afterward, but Rodrigue was in such a state that the army rigged up a way to _fly_ him, in a kind of litter, back to Garreg Mach. It was a good thing they had all those wyverns to ferry the patient (and a solid portion of their white magic users) ahead of the army itself.

They got back to the monastery in good time. Felix was a mess. He was a very Felix-esque mess who, despite “not caring about his old man” couldn’t stop pacing, wouldn’t eat or drink anything, and managed to be more snappish than usual. Leonie thought about offering to fight him to get his mind off things, but Annette got to him first. She really must have, ahem, a magic all her own if she could get him to eat something and lie down without having to help him physically beat his emotions (not that he had any) into submission first. Wonders never cease. Leonie went back about her business. 

Leonie trailed Lorenz as he reclaimed his old room. It was not as dusty as one might have expected, which was courtesy of the duty roster Annette had drawn up. Everywhere got lightly cleaned at least once a month, which actually did do a lot towards making the place feel less abandoned and sad.

Lorenz had… not that much stuff, which was weird. Back in school, he’d had books and multiple tea sets and knickknacks in his room. Now Leonie watched as he produced practical object after practical object from his packs. The only things he had that couldn’t really be described as essentials were a bag of tea (of course), a few bottles of some sort of cosmetics, and…

“Letters?” Leonie asked. Lorenz ducked his head slightly. He hadn’t taken the bundle out of his pack, but she thought she recognized the shape of it. She ought to, she carried letters around too. Boy, he had a lot of them.

“Correct,” he said. With an oddly resigned air, he drew the bundle out of his pack, and—huh, that was Leonie’s handwriting. Wow, that was a lot of letters, a lot of paper, a lot of words. Strange. With an embarrassed look, Lorenz also drew from his pocket a purple and grey river rock and held it out for her inspection. Weird, what—oh. She took it from him, turned it over in her hand. She wasn’t sure, but she thought this might have been one of the first things she’d sent, before he told her to stop. So he hadn’t just thrown them all away. She didn’t know what to do with the feeling that holding it gave her. She passed it back. “… And with that, I believe I have finished unpacking,” Lorenz said, looking around. His cheeks were pink. Well, it was a bit warm in the room. Leonie looked around too. It was—bare. Needed some knickknacks and whatnots. 

“Hungry?” she asked. Lorenz shrugged, and they ambled to the dining hall.

Leonie dropped in on Rodrigue during a quiet moment. He looked good for a guy who’d almost died and was regrowing most of his blood. The color was almost back in his face.

“Leonie,” he greeted her and gestured her to a chair that had been set by his bed. The wrinkles on his face were deeply carved, and the circles under his eyes were so dark they almost looked like bruises. Still better than being a corpse. Leonie put the basket of stuffed rolls she’d brought on the table near his bed. “Good to see you.”

“Thank you, sir,” she said. He psshed at her. 

“I told you to call me Rodrigue,” he said. 

“Yes, Duke Fraldarius,” she said. He rolled his eyes, which made him look very much like his son, and smiled, which made him look very different. 

“How’s Felix?” he asked.

“He hasn’t visited?” She knew the guy made a big show about how much he didn’t get along with his old man, but he obviously did care, so—

“He did, when he thought I was asleep,” Rodrigue said. Ah. That made sense. “But I haven’t gotten the chance to talk with him yet.” Leonie rubbed her hands over her face. _Felix._ “He cares in his own way, I know that. And even if he didn’t have such a Faerghan approach to showing he cares, we don’t have a neat and unblemished history. I hate to think what would be going through his head right now if I’d actually died.” Leonie was quiet as Rodrigue looked at his lap for a moment. Then the man shook himself. “But that’s between me and my son. I wanted to ask _you_ something, Wildcat.” 

“Please don’t call me that,” Leonie sighed. Rodrigue smiled. 

“Leonie, then. But to people in my territory, and I suspect much of eastern Faerghus and the Alliance, that’s who you are, no?” 

“Ugh.” Leonie was going to throttle Claude one of these days, except she had the irritating suspicion that that would mean he’d won.

“And you got that name as a wandering sword,” Rodrigue continued. “And after the war, when Dimitri is king, I expect you will only gain further renown.” He tiled his head as he smiled slightly. “Especially if your friends have anything to say about it.”

“Um,” Leonie said. She was aware that she’d benefited enormously from the friendships she’d made at the Academy—that had been part of the calculations that had preceded her enrollment, actually—but after the war, the rest of it. Well. 

“No?” Rodrigue looked surprised. Leonie grimaced and tried to shrug and shake her head at the same time. It was just that—well, she liked sleeping in the same bed and having a place to keep her things and—it was hard to have a life like that on the road, even if you traveled with a wagon. But she was only twenty-five, and she didn’t have any other plans, but—ugh. Didn’t she have enough to think about, doing her part for the future of Fodlan, without having to sort out her own damn future? Yeesh. “Well, there goes my plan to delicately hint that if my son doesn’t settle after the war, you should travel together,” Rodrigue said with a rueful smile.

“I’m not against it,” Leonie offered. She did have to do something with herself, and she and Felix would probably do well. It might even be fun. Rodrigue was already shaking his head.

“My son has been tied to our land, stationary, and itches to travel. You’ve been wandering and feel the pull of hearth and home.” Well that was maybe overstating things a little. “Any chance you and he can switch?” He grinned, a little, and there was something wistful there. Leonie smiled back, felt where it was crooked. 

“It involves a lot of camping out and sleeping in strange rooms,” Leonie offered. “It’s not for everyone.” Not that Felix was overly enamored of the soft comforts in life, but he was still a noble and still used to a certain level of comfort.

“I don’t know how much work there will be for mercenaries, in a new era of peace,” Rodrigue said. That seemed a little optimistic to Leonie, but she kept her mouth shut.

“So it’ll be a race to see if he misses having his own bed or runs out of work first,” Leonie said, “As long as—um.” 

“As long as I don’t die?” Rodrigue supplied. Leonie nodded. “Nor my brother, I suppose. Alright. And I think it may be good for him.”

“I like traveling,” Leonie said. It was true; she did. It was just that sometimes she felt tired. Ugh. 

“Travel broadens the mind and offers you a richer perspective of the world. It exposes you to new cultures,” Rodrigue suggested. Leonie… guessed that was one way to think about it. Nobles. 

“Sure,” Leonie said. Rodrigue laughed, then winced, his hand hovering over his chest. 

“I can see why you and my son get along. You’re well-matched as far as sentimentality goes,” he said. Leonie made a face at him, which made him smile again. “Any chance you want to marry him? He’s quite eligible.”

“I don’t think _I’m_ the redhead you should be asking that,” Leonie said dryly. Rodrigue raised his eyebrows at her but grinned anyway. 

“For the best, perhaps. You might be too well-matched, and Fraldarius needs at least one ruler who remembers the importance of producing an heir.” Leonie made _a face_ at that, which made Rodrigue laugh and then wince in pain again. Leonie didn’t feel bad this time. Heirs. Yeesh. She was only somewhat mollified when Rodrigue waved a hand, dismissing the whole topic of _heirs._ Ugh. “Tell me, if you would, how is my son? How many hours has he put into the training yard since our arrival back here?” 

“Not as many as you’d think. He’s been spending a lot of time poring over maps with the others,” Leonie admitted. Rodrigue gestured towards the food she’d brought, and they shared the rolls as they talked about the plans the Kingdom generals were brewing without Rodrigue to supervise them. 

The shock of the assassination attempt and Rodrigue’s near death, combined with Dedue’s return, had apparently jolted Dimitri out of his bloodlust. Good, for as long as it lasted. On the other hand, Dimitri’s return to reason completely overturned all their plans (if they could be called that). Claude and the others were just this side of pulling their hair out. Now the Kingdom was planning to march on Fhirdiad (good), and blah blah symbolism Alliance presence blah. Claude (and the _Almyrans_ ) and the others would march north with the Kingdom army, which would leave the Airmid River wide open. So while Claude and the others went north, Leonie, Lorenz, and Ignatz would be returning to the Alliance to dig in ahead of the Empire’s expected retaliation. Marianne would remain at Garreg Mach to support their forces at both fronts.

After visiting with Rodrigue, Leonie went back to her room and repacked her things. She wasn’t leaving right away, but there was no sense in putting it off. And if she was called to ride out on short notice, she’d be able to respond all the faster. Might as well. Silly to have unpacked at all, really.

She got to the drawer with the handkerchief in it. Hm.

“Lorenz,” she called. “You got a sec?”

“Of course,” he said, turning to her. It was midmorning, and the sky overhead was mostly clouded, but the sun shone strongly nonetheless.

“Got something of yours,” she said. She held up the handkerchief and wasn’t sure what to make of the expression of his face. “Sorry it took so long to get it back to you.” 

“You didn’t need to return it,” Lorenz said, not moving to take it from her. Leonie shrugged. 

“It’s yours,” she said.

“Keep it, please,” Lorenz said, and his voice was strangely soft. Leonie felt herself flush.

“It’s yours,” she repeated. Her fingers twitched on the scrap of fabric. It was ridiculously soft and far too fine for the likes of her. Might as well put a ballgown on a goat. 

“I have no need of it, Leonie,” he said.

“I don’t need it either,” Leonie said. She was getting annoyed that this simple task, return Lorenz’s stupid fancy kerchief to him, was somehow taking a long time. “What am I supposed to do with it?” Lorenz only shrugged. Ugh. “ _Lorenz,_ take the stupid handkerchief.” He did, finally, and tucked it carefully into a pocket. Good grief. “ _Thank_ you.” Lorenz shrugged.

“Thank you, I suppose, for the return of my possession.” She didn’t know what to make of his expression. Well, she had things to do, and she was irritated besides.

“See you at dinner,” she called and left. 

They were preparing for the retaking of Fhirdiad (they were actually preparing, Saints witness it, allocating time for it even) and keeping an eye on the Empire. The Alliance needed to dig in at the Airmid border as fast as possible. Every person who was able to help, did so. But people were still people, and they needed things like food and sleep and connection. There were still dinners to eat and moments to share and sunrises to watch or sleep through. The stars moved, and the sun sailed across the sky, and the weather was what it was, and it all happened on its own timetable, regardless of the hopes and plans of scurrying humans. Leonie might not have believed in kings returning from the dead to answer the prayers of the blah blah blah, but she was willing to accept, in general terms, there was space in the world for—if not miracles, then at least little moments of grace. 

There was enough time for this: Claude found Leonie weeding one of the garden beds, beckoned her to follow him. Back at his quarters, he pressed into her hands a literal bag of money.

“The other half of your payment, and a bonus of course,” he said lightly.

“I didn’t really mean that part,” Leonie said. The bag was heavy in her hands, but it felt too light for what it was. It wasn’t just that she’d repeatedly set a price on her own life, and this job had been the hardest. This sum was more than enough to cover her remaining balance to Sauin Village, more than enough to send some to her family. With this—she would have some left over to save, or spend, or buy real apprenticeships for her siblings. It should have been heavier.

“You earned it, Wildcat, and I’ll be sure to recommend your services to anyone who asks,” Claude said, and Leonie scowled with something like relief, to have that stupid name waved in front of her again.

“I want to take this home personally,” she said instead of goading him by responding to the name. “Think I can?”

“It should be doable,” Claude said. 

It was. 

For reasons that were not totally clear to Leonie, and that she didn’t bother to question, their commanders saw fit to send Lorenz with her. Something about using magic to reach her if she needed to return at once. Whatever.

The sky was a bright, clear blue and only a few soft, indistinct clouds lingered around the mountain ridge. The distance between Sauin Village and the monastery was deceptively short—they would ride out and return within the day—and it was strange to think that of all the students in her year, she’d traveled the fewest miles to be there. Sometimes, especially in the early morning when Leonie felt stiff and the light was cool and blue, she felt like she’d traveled an impossible distance only to end up where she started. But enough of that.

“How are you feeling?” Lorenz asked some way through their journey. He was in borrowed, standard armor rather than his bright dress armor. The fancy stuff was being cleaned and maintained while they were gone. He still had figured out a way to pin a rose to his breastplate, though. 

“Good,” Leonie said. She resisted the urge to set a hand on her pack, where the money was safely stowed. “I could go for a bite to eat soon. And you?”

“Ah,” Lorenz said, and Leonie glanced at him. His head was inclined just slightly, expression the faintest bit sheepish. “I confess, I’m a little—I know not. Something.” 

“Why?” Leonie hadn’t the faintest idea what he was trying to say. 

“I’ve never visited Sauin Village,” Lorenz said, as if that clarified anything. “I don’t know what to expect.” 

“It’s a pretty normal place,” Leonie offered. Even as she said it, she knew it was nonsense. There were no normal places, only places that were more or less familiar in some personal way. Lorenz thought of Derdriu as normal, with its canals and its crowds and its prosperity. Felix thought snow in Harpstring Moon was normal. She tried again. “It’s a mountain town, not very big. Lots of hunting, some fishing. Woodcraft too.” At least Lorenz was from Gloucester, so she didn’t have to explain what she meant by a mountain town. “Small,” she said again, “And tucked away.” Rustic and poor, she didn’t say. When she’d seen how many ways there were to be poor—from gaunt villages in Galatea to desperate parts of the cities to isolated towns like her own—she felt vindicated, in a way, that she’d never spent much time letting people in school think of Sauin that way. They didn’t have a lot of money, but they had enough. The village got by, and the money didn’t matter—until you started interacting with the outside world, of course. Still. She resisted the urge to touch the pack with the money in it again. She looked at Lorenz instead, caught the flicker of expression there. 

Oh, he was nervous about meeting new people. Wonders never cease. “Don’t worry,” she said with a smile, “They’ll like you just fine. What with Raph and Ignatz, they’re used to me bringing strangers to visit.” 

“If you say so,” Lorenz said. She psshed at him, and he tutted at her, and she was pleased to see him relax. 

After the predictable flurry of hellos—Sauin wasn’t so big and worldly that two people could just show up without comment—Leonie asked after the headman. He was in his workshop, so she and Lorenz headed there directly. A few people followed them, which wasn’t surprising either. 

It was the best kind of anticlimactic. Leonie had been party to a lot of drama and whatnot, but this—passing the money over, watching the headman count it out, seeing the headman draw out the big ledger and officially write down that Leonie had paid her debt—was reassuringly mundane. No magic or myth here, just honest pay for honest work. The nosy hangers-on even turned out to be convenient, since the whole thing could be witnessed officially.

And there it was: she, Leonie Pinelli, owed nothing to Sauin Village. She felt like a cloud: untethered, like she might drift off at any moment. The headman grinned when it was over, clapped her on the shoulder. The hangers-on, the witnesses, smiled at her too, patted her arm or her back or just nodded. And then they dispersed, each drifting off to their own business. 

“Ain’t that a thing, Leonie,” the headman said. 

“Ain’t it a thing,” Leonie agreed. He smiled at her again as he put the big ledger away, patted its spine.

“Don’t go forgetting us now,” he said, and he wagged his finger at her playfully, like he was issuing a stern order. 

“As if I could,” Leonie said. She tried to smile but felt it come out a little too rootless. The headman smiled for her, shrugged a little.

“Your dad’ll be out for a while yet, but your mum’s probably at her sister’s,” he offered. Leonie thanked him, and she led Lorenz out into the sunlight again.

Her mom was at Aunt Liv’s house, as predicted, and Yetta was there too. Leonie was hugged to within an inch of her life by her mom and aunt, and Yetta graced her with a there-and-gone squeeze of the arms. And then—

“And who is this?” Leonie’s mom asked, looking at Lorenz.

In a very audible whisper, Aunt Liv told Yetta, “I bet he’s a merchant’s son. He looks rich.” 

“This is Lorenz, mom,” Leonie said, ignoring her baby sister’s whispered commentary on the quality of Lorenz’s clothing. “He’s—”

“Oh, _Lorenz,_ like from your letters?” Aunt Liv demanded and, yes, of course if her mail was getting delivered at Sauin every busybody in town would see the name on the outside, and—

“What other Lorenz would it be?” Yetta was asking, and—

“It’s a pretty common name, baby, after the Count’s son, you know,” Leonie’s mom was explaining, and—

“ _Yes,_ this is Lorenz, like the letters,” Leonie interrupted loudly. Her aunt honest-to-goodness _ooh’ed._ Good grief. “And it happens that he _is_ —”

“Very pleased to meet you,” Lorenz interrupted, and he was smiling but trying not to show it. Leonie gave up. He extended his hand to Leonie’s mom, but when she reached out to shake it he—Macuil’s teeth—he kissed the back of her mom’s hand like a fancy gentleman (which he _was_ ) greeting a fancy lady. What was happening. Then he did the same thing to Leonie’s aunt, and her sister. Her aunt giggled and put a hand to her cheek. What. Why. Yetta, bless her orange head, looked at Lorenz flintily as he kissed her hand. Good sister, best sister.

On the other hand, the absolute pile of pegasus blessings that Lorenz was shoveling onto Leonie’s female relatives was certainly a distraction. Leonie had been sliding into feeling kind of—oh, she didn’t know, something, after paying off her debt (severing another tie to Sauin) but instead she was distracted by the, the—whatever this was. Aunt Liv was making tea in the middle of the day, and Leonie definitely recognized her aunt’s _good_ tea set and the _good_ tea. And then, just coincidentally, her aunt stepped out for a quick second and not long after she returned what felt like the entire town was coincidentally dropping in to say hi to Liv. Pegasus. Blessings.

Lorenz, to his credit, bore up magnificently under the… whatever was happening. As the Cou—Duke’s son, he was probably trained on ‘what to do if a bunch of commoners decide to gape at you like yokels.’ He smiled, and he greeted people, and he asked them what they did and seemed interested in the answers. He looked happy and friendly and, if not actually at ease, interested in his surroundings. At no point did he disabuse anyone of the notion that he was a merchant’s son named after the Duke’s son, so that was a thing. A very, very confusing thing.

After the longest tea party of Leonie’s life, they did have to make their farewells. Leonie hugged her mom, her sister, her aunt, and watched as her mom hugged Lorenz, armor and all, and told him to ‘come back anytime!’ while her aunt nodded approvingly. Yetta, being younger and more sane, just watched all this suspiciously. Welp. They left.

When they returned to the monastery, they received word that it was time to set out. They were both to return to the Myrddin as soon as possible to begin their new assignments. Leonie was glad she’d repacked her things since that made it easier to prepare. So began the second phase of the war.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I really love Felix and Leonie's paired ending. :D Someday maybe I'll get to do something with it ^^  
> \--  
> If you'd like to read about Leonie taking care of Claude (pre-relationship, postwar, not my usual ship haha) I recently posted [taking time, taking care](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28572453), which if I may say so was incredibly self-indulgent re: those soft soft caretaking feels.  
> \--  
> next chapter: Ignatz tells Leonie she is wrong to her face


	14. roaming days

The second phase of the war lasted about two months, through Great Tree Moon and Harpstring Moon. While the Kingdom army prepared for the retaking of Fhirdiad, the Empire made trouble up and down the Airmid River. The Alliance was bracing for an eventual invasion, and the constant skirmishing with small bands of Empire soldiers slowed down their attempts to dig in. Leonie was one of several commanders put in charge of a roving battalion, one that wasn’t assigned to any specific bridge fort but instead went where they were needed, or likely to be needed. It was interesting. Despite all the jobs she’d taken over the past few years, she hadn’t spent that much time _in command_. The closest she’d gotten was probably the handful of times she’d had to help small villages fight their own bandits. 

There were a few things Leonie hadn’t anticipated. One thing, embarrassingly, was what Ignatz—who, like Leonie, was temporarily stationed at Myrddin—called ‘the issue of nomenclature.’ Put simply, every unit had an official name. Leonie’s was the Fourteenth Light Cavalry Unit. But since the official names tended to be long, most units also ended up with a nickname. Normally these were things like the Holbridge Hounds or the Baroness’s Spear.

Another thing Leonie hadn’t anticipated: most of her battalion were drawn from western Gloucester, and it had five squads. Two of her squad leaders (Liza and Johann) had heard of the Wildcat, two of them hadn’t (Dortie and Oluf), and the last one (Georgie) was actually _from_ a village ~~Leonie~~ the Wildcat had visited. Georgie hadn’t been in the town when they’d been having trouble, but his family had told them about it, and so—

Ignatz laid a gentle hand on Leonie’s elbow. 

“What?” she asked. 

“A word, Leonie?” he asked in a mild voice, and he fairly dragged her a little ways away. “Leonie, letting the battalion come up with a name is traditional. It’s one of the first things the unit does as a team, and it’s supposed to be good for morale. It also opens up an opportunity for your troops to reflect on what serving together means, and what values they share.”

“I know that,” Leonie grumbled, not sure what he was getting at. Well—that was only partially true. She knew it was traditional, and it was supposed to be good for morale. The other stuff—where had Ignatz learned that? Then again, he’d served in Goneril, so he had an inside view of how it was supposed to work, not to mention whatever involvement he’d had with Hilda’s scheming. _But_ the unit was supposed to pick a name that rolled off the tongue and inspired, like, respect or something. _Not_ a name like the Wildcats, or the Kittens, or any other damn fool thing her troops were bandying about. Ignatz sighed.

In a patient voice, he said, “It’s important for them to pick their own name, and you shouldn’t discourage them just because their ideas aren’t what you would have chosen.”

“Remember when you used to apologize for breathing too loudly? Whatever happened to that,” Leonie grumbled without heat. Look at Ignatz, telling Leonie she was wrong to her face. Ignatz only grinned at this.

“I do,” he said, “This works better.” Leonie couldn’t help but smile back. It did work better, didn’t it. “I also suggest you try to stop looking like you bit on a lemon every time the Wildcat comes up in conversation. I’ve been watching, and they do mean well under the jokes.” 

“I just don’t like it,” Leonie mumbled.

“You just find it embarrassing,” Ignatz corrected gently. He was correcting her. He, Ignatz, was correcting her. And being nice about it, too. Ugh. Leonie put her hands over her face.

“Can we at least agree that ‘Kittens’ is not a good name?” she asked. Ignatz only shrugged.

“Then trust your troops’ judgment, and trust that it won’t win,” he suggested lightly. Bah. How dare he be so reasonable. He looked over her shoulder. “Oh, looks like they’re wrapping up.”

“...Don’t even know how they figured it out anyway,” Leonie mumbled to herself as she trailed Ignatz to rejoin her battalion. Ignatz smiled over his shoulder at her but said nothing.

“Any progress?” he asked politely. Her squad leaders were nodding among themselves, and Leonie saw more than one person covering a smile. Sweet Saint Cethleann, _not_ the Kittens—

“You’re looking at the Quickpaws!” Georgie said, looking proud. Well. He would. The name had been his suggestion after all. Leonie looked to her other squad leaders before scanning the faces of the rest of the group. 

“You’re all in agreement?” she asked instead of _Really?_ Heads nodded in her direction. Well, okay. “Okay,” she said, “Well met, Quickpaws.” And then, because she could, she ran them through formation drills until they were sweating, even in the cool shadow of the fort’s walls. 

It wasn’t long before Leonie and the Fourteenth Light Cav (it wasn’t catching on) were being sent out all along the Airmid border. The Empire clearly knew the Kingdom army (the Faerghus-Leicester United Forces) was planning something, and there were really only two things they could be cooking up: a march on Fhirdiad or a march on Enbarr. To draw off the Kingdom’s energy, the Empire was putting pressure along the Airmid border. High command kept the Fourteenth LC (still hadn’t caught on) riding here and there for weeks at a time. When they weren’t on a mission, they returned to the Myrddin. 

“How’s the new flock?” Leonie asked as she settled into the seat across from Lorenz. He gave her an amused look. The mess hall at Myrddin was a spacious one—as it had to be—and the food was hot and filling, which was all Leonie asked for. Oh, and—assuming Lorenz and his pack were here instead of visiting the other forts to keep an eye on things—the company was good too.

“You mean, how are my new clerks? They are well-trained and seem to be in good spirits,” he said. Leonie smiled. Good. “And your men?”

“We’re okay,” Leonie sighed. Some of Dortie’s squad had gotten careless during the last mission and they’d gotten themselves hurt. She didn’t like it, but that was how it went. “Dortie’s running them through extra training now. Need anyone to clean latrines?”

“I shall consider it,” Lorenz said. They spoke a little more of the specifics of how the mission had gone wrong and what training Leonie and Dortie had cooked up to keep it from happening again.

“How goes the case of the missing boots?” Leonie asked. The saga of the missing boots had kept Lorenz and his people away from Myrddin for some time. Lorenz practically growled at the question, then launched into the Lorenz equivalent of a tirade against those who expected soldiers to fight in insufficient footwear. This segued into a description of the steps he was taking to track down the perpetrator.

“We’re lucky to have you for Quartermaster,” Leonie said. They’d finished their supper and were strolling along the length of the bridge. The day had been warm, but the cool air promised a chilly evening to come. The sun was low in the sky but hadn’t yet dropped below the Oghma Mountains. Leonie looked out over the river below, shining with reflected light. Lorenz stopped at her side, a comfortable presence. “You’ve got the mind for it.”

“Thank you,” he said. Then, “And your men are fortunate to have so capable a commander.” Leonie grinned at nothing.

“Thanks, I try. Not that you needed to say something nice back.” 

“Perhaps I wanted to,” he said, and Leonie felt her grin soften into—something else. Lorenz moved in her peripheral vision, and she looked his way. Looking at his angular face, his hair stirring in the breeze that always blew off the water, Leonie felt—she wasn’t sure. Something, though, definitely something. It was better, probably, to leave it at that.

“Do you,” she started to say, “Think about after the war?” He looked surprised at that.

“Not often,” he said, “And every day.” Leonie huffed a laugh at that. That seemed about right. “Why do you ask?” His voice was soft. Leonie stretched her arms over her head, looked away and towards the mountains again. 

“Dunno,” she said. “Why do people do anything?”

“Do you think about after the war?” Lorenz asked, and his voice was soft and careful. Leonie set her hands on her hips, for lack of anything better to do with them. 

“Sometimes,” she admitted. “This isn’t what we planned, but it’s what we trained for, right? Leading troops into battle, provisioning them, strategy and tactics. But it’s not the way we thought it would be. I thought I’d be a mercenary, like Jeralt, and here I am in an army. And you were probably more worried about the Almyrans than anything else. We were training for war, but we didn’t think there’d _be_ one. It’s just funny, I guess.” Not that funny, really. “Ready or not, here comes history.”

“Dimitri and the others depart soon,” Lorenz said. Yeah, tomorrow. Maybe she wasn’t asking for no reason after all. “Though it will be some time before they reach Fhirdiad.” 

“What do you think, easier down here or harder?” she asked. Would the Empire draw off the Airmid to focus on the Kingdom, or would they take the opportunity to breach the border while the Kingdom and Alliance were spread out?

“I think that, whatever the Empire decides to do, we’ll be best served by focusing on our own preparations.”

“Huh,” she said, and looked at him again. He was looking at her, one side of his face in shadow. “That’s good, practical advice.” He smiled, and Leonie watched how it made little wrinkles appear at the corners of his eyes.

“I have my moments.” Yeah, she guessed he did. They were still… looking at each other.

“After the war,” she said, feeling like she was telling a secret, “I think it’ll be time for me to try something new. Something that doesn’t involve traveling so much.”

“Oh? What will you do?” he looked—she didn’t know what she expected, but he looked _surprised_ , really surprised. Leonie made a face.

“That’s a great question, Lorenz. Got any good, practical advice for an old pal?” He opened his mouth, then closed it. She looked back over the river.

“What you are thinking of will be a large departure,” he said after a pause so long Leonie thought maybe he wasn’t going to say anything at all. “I think that the best thing, again, is to focus on the task before us. We must focus on winning the war, and once a peaceful future is secured—then there will be time to, to plan.” Leonie glanced at him and saw that he was looking towards the mountains as well. The sun had just alighted on the ridge of the mountains, and dark would be falling soon. “I suspect that the end of the war will bring enough changes that any plans we try to make now will be of little help. Better to wait. And,” his voice became so quiet she could scarcely make out the words. “When it is over, perhaps you will ask me again, and I will have something of more worth to say.” 

Leonie felt strange, like—like she’d been told a secret, only she didn’t know what it was. There was a feeling though, in her chest, like something small was sleeping in there and now it was twitching but wasn’t awake yet. It made it hard for her to breathe. 

“Huh. Okay,” Leonie said aloud. Lorenz laughed and covered his face, just for a moment, and then turned to her. 

“Sorry. I know that wasn’t helpful,” he said with a self-deprecating smile. Half his face was still in shadow, but he almost glowed where the fast-fading light still shone. 

“No, it’s good,” Leonie said without hearing herself. She was staring, and he… was looking back. She didn’t know what that meant. The thing in her chest shivered hard, and Leonie looked a moment longer.


	15. elmsford

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was determined Leonie’s battalion would no longer be most useful as a roving team. Instead, Leonie was put in charge of a fort and told to keep it safe.

After whatever that was, the main bulk of the army set out to retake Fhirdiad. Leonie and the Fourteenth Light Cav were kept busy traveling between forts to the west of the Myrddin.

And then—word came that the retaking of Fhirdiad was successful. More than successful: their army was somehow _bigger_ than when they’d left Garreg Mach. Alright then.

Leonie and the Fourteenth were at the minor bridge Ostarkay when the news came. The spontaneous celebration that followed was good for the soul, and not even the fact that _someone_ (Georgie, it was Georgie, of course it was) insisted on teaching everyone the song “Cat and Rat” during the drinking and singing portion of the evening could puncture Leonie’s good mood.

The retaking of Fhirdiad marked the beginning of the third phase of the war. The most obvious changes happened north of the Oghmas, in the Kingdom. Apparently reclaiming a throne and whatnot meant there was a lot of organizing to do, not to mention cleaning the Empire out of the western Kingdom. And of course, while all of that was happening, there were also a lot of preparations needed for the United Forces to invade the Empire. (Leonie thought grimly of Dimitri calling for Edelgard’s head. Had his citizens seen him pace and talk to the air? Were they that desperate? Or had the apparent change that had started on the way to Gronder Field continued? Impossible to know, this far away, and somehow impossible to ask, at any distance.) Anyway, the Empire shifted its tactics along the Airmid again. Instead of keeping up the pressure by launching many (many, many) small attacks all along the border, they seemed to be focusing on fewer, stronger attacks at key bridges.

It was determined Leonie’s battalion would no longer be most useful as a roving team. Instead, Leonie was put in charge of a fort and told to keep it safe. 

She failed.

It started well enough. She and the Fourteenth were assigned to Elmsford Bridge, which hosted Fort Elmsford just next to Elmsford Village. To help with the paperwork involved in running the fort, Leonie was assigned an assistant—a familiar one, actually. Leonie’s eyes almost bugged out when she walked out of the fort offices (her offices) to greet the newcomer and saw—

“Thistle?” she asked, in tones of disbelief. He grinned at her and gave a little wave. She hardly recognized him in his Alliance uniform, all trim yellow and brown. Goddess, and he was taller too, who had authorized that. His hair was the same though.

“Leonie,” he greeted, “Lady Hilda said there was some rube from the mountains who needed someone who could read and write, so here I am.”

“That’s Commander Leonie, boy,” Georgie started to say.

“They obviously know each other,” Oluf sighed. To Thistle he added, “Though you should probably show _some_ respect.”

“Yeah, Thistle, you gotta ‘spect me now,” Leonie said, and her voice slipped out much more—like a rube from the mountains, the sounds flowing lazy and thick like pine sap—“Though, I s’pose I should call you Theodore now.” 

“Thistle is fine,” he said, rolling his eyes, and Leonie found she was grinning. Well, wouldn’t you know it, Thistle had gotten out from his father’s roof after all.

The old commander, Sir Cenric Barcol, was being reassigned to another posting farther east. Sir Cenric stood very much on ceremony and had directed his men to remain separate from Elmsford Village. Well enough. But a few of Leonie’s cavalry were from Elmsford, and Leonie didn’t care about ceremony. In between patrolling, building up the fortifications, and formations practice, Leonie gave her people permission to mingle with the villagers. They even organized a few informal tournaments between the soldiers and the townsfolk: footraces, trick shooting, and even some wrestling.

Leonie didn’t partake—being the commander and all, she wasn’t sure if it would be weird—but she cheered on her men. Georgie entered _every_ contest (of course he did) and had his butt handed to him in every one except wrestling. Leonie smiled as he and the second-place wrestler, Adner, bent their heads together to talk animatedly about times they almost lost, or almost won, and would you show me that pin again? Johann proved himself a formidable marksman, and Oluf made himself quite popular, in a way, by losing a lot of betting money to the townsfolk. He handled it was good grace, and one lady even took pity on him and bought him a drink with the money she’d taken off him. It was Liza who said, laughing, _Goddess bless Oluf because every time he bets on a man, all I have to do is bet on on his opponent._ Even Thistle participated. He did well for himself in the footraces. He made friends with the village lads too, and good for him.

Small parties from Adrestia appeared often to attack them, not in earnest but to test their strength and keep them guessing. Leonie and her men repelled them easily enough, and easier still when they’d had time to dig some more trenches. A few of her troops and some of the townsfolk had skill with magic—nothing big, or they’d have been with the mage corps—but enough to do little tricks. One of the town girls, Loesia, roped her friends into making what were basically extra-potent stinkbombs to ruin the Adrestians’ mornings. Those less gifted with stink coaxed their magic into making—sparkle bombs, Leonie supposed, little earthbound fireworks. They made a loud noise and flashing lights and they _might_ startle some of the enemies’ mounts if it came to it. They collected rocks, too, to hurl at oncoming enemies.

Weeks passed, measured in skirmishes won and footraces lost. 

And then—it started with Thistle, at Leonie’s door, at an hour so early it was still late. He had, she couldn’t help but notice, a raccoon in his arms. It was eating a biscuit.

“Leonie,” he said, and he sounded young, and shaken, “There’s—you have to send out, out scouts or, or something. South, across the bridge.”

Adrestian heavy cavalry to the south, bearing down on Elmsford. So much for their cursed intelligence network.

Leonie had her orders: protect the bridge, if practical. If they encountered anything they couldn’t handle, send for help, slow down the Empress’s forces, and buy time for Alliance army to respond.

Elmsford Bridge was primarily wood with stone foundations. The fort was entirely wood. She had _light_ cavalry. If they tried to stop the Adrestians, they’d be slaughtered—and that wasn’t practical. Leonie was going to have to give up the bridge.

They did their best. They probably could have held out a little bit longer if they’d put all their energy into preparing to slow down the Adrestians, but Leonie’s forces were split between readying the fortifications and raising the alarm in the town. Elmsford was rich enough to have dozens of horses, and there were the extra cavalry mounts, and all in all they did they best they could. The people from Elmsford knew the terrain, knew the best ways to slip through the forest, but this was Imperial heavy cavalry, and the whole town couldn’t just hunker down in the woods. Garreg Mach, though, was heavily fortified and not too far, so—to the monastery they went. Leonie sent Thistle ahead to help Oluf and Georgie keep everyone organized and on the right track. Besides, he wasn’t a soldier.

She and her remaining troops made the Elmsford Bridge as irritating to invade as possible. They had their trenches already, set with sharpened posts, and they had caltrops, and their walls and gates. They set the sinkbombs and the sparklebombs, and it was time to go. Curse the Adrestians, and curse the waste. Leonie would vividly remember pleading with Adner to come with them, but this was his home; his whole life was here. Loeisa’s father had sent her away with the Fourteenth but he and her brother had stayed, and they and their neighbors weren’t just going to roll over and run away from the Adrestians, and then—

Leonie and the others caught up with the rest of the Fourteenth Light Cav, and the, the remaining Elmsford folk (the Elmsford refugees) were there too. It was still early in the day, and the sun was shining and the sky was a beautiful unbroken blue. There were babies crying (adults too, here and there) and Thistle _hugged_ her when she and the others had caught up with them, and he wouldn’t leave her side even when she ordered him to get his head down. The Adrestians could be anywhere but in truth they were probably still—still at Elmsford. Leonie’s people were all jumpy, and all in all, it was a very long trip.

One of the knights on duty greeted Leonie and her men, and their ragged little crowd, and said, “Saint’s bones, girl, what are you doing with a whole town?” 

“It’s not the whole town,” Leonie said. It wasn’t.

Leonie wouldn’t learn this until later, but Holst himself led the response to the attack on Elmsford. They left long before she and her group arrived at Garreg Mach. 

Holst and his men retook Elmsford almost immediately, and with no casualties. Holst had heavy cavalry, armored knights, and longbowmen who were trained since childhood. Leonie had rocks and children’s pranks and wooden poles. She understood that the might of the Alliance was limited. Elmsford had been small and out of the way. They’d had to _retake_ it, of course, because if the Empire got a real foothold on the Leicester side of the river the Myrddin was in trouble, but to give up control of the bridge for a short time wasn’t, strategically speaking, a disaster. 

It was just—stark, was all: the difference between the best the Alliance had to offer and, well, what a bunch of commoners could manage with what they had.

Leonie dropped her packs on the floor of her room and fell into bed.

When she woke, it was dark outside. She stared at the ceiling for a while. Well. The world was still out there, and lying here wasn’t going to change that.

When she opened her door, she saw—

“Leonie!” Oh, what the—that was Lorenz, and he—had he been sitting on the floor? He scrambled to his feet as Leonie stared. “We came as soon as we could, I—oh, Leonie,” he said, and he was hugging her. Oh.

Leonie let herself rest her face against his shoulder, let her hands tangle loosely behind his back. He was very warm, and he held her like she was—well it was nice, whatever it was. 

“What are you doing here?” she asked eventually.

“We got the news,” Lorenz said, and his voice was heavy with some emotion that Leonie didn’t try to identify, “About Elmsford.” Leonie leaned more heavily into his hold. About how she’d failed. “I was so—I knew, logically, that you must have—that you—that you were alive, but I—” He seemed to give up, held her more tightly. “And then, when more details came, that you were coming here, I knew—you must have taken the villagers.”

“Not all of them,” Leonie forced the words out. “Some of them wouldn’t come.” Instead of—having a sensible reaction, this news just made him hold her closer.

“You cannot make people’s decisions for them,” he said, as if it was that simple, “And, while you have been sleeping, I have been receiving reports and making lists. I can tell you precisely how many people you and your men brought here, safe.”

“Don’t,” Leonie said and tried to curl in on herself. 

“Mourn the dead as they deserve, Leonie, but don’t forget the living,” Lorenz said. He ran a hand over the Leonie’s hair and down her back. “They matter, and there are more of them here today because of you and your men.” Leonie felt the tears come and couldn’t stop them. Lorenz kept his arms around her and helped her back into her room. She cried until her body was too tired to do it any more, and then she leaned listlessly against him. “When did you last eat?” he asked, and she surprised herself with a wet-sounding laugh.

“I don’t remember, probably some time today—is it still today?”

“It’s still the twenty-third,” Lorenz said.

“Today, then,” Leonie said. For some reason this made him tug her closer again.

“Ah, so you have eaten ‘today,’ well done, surely there is no chance that hunger is causing you to become overwrought,” Lorenz said and he sounded so—prissy and noble-y, and Leonie surprised herself again by giggling. It was a loose, unraveled sound, but it was laugh-adjacent.

For reasons that were unknown to Leonie, that seemed to be what made Lorenz let go. He loosened his arms around her, leaning back to—cup her face? He was very close, and his hand was warm, and he—oh, he was touching the scar over her eye again.

“It really bothers you, huh?” she asked, not caring about the answer. There was something in his expression she almost recognized, but she didn’t—yet—know what it meant. “My scar.”

“Not at all,” he said, and his expression was—solemn? But warm? He looked—sincere, and, and something else—

“Good,” she said. “Because I like it. Makes me look fierce, like Jeralt.” It didn’t, but he’d said something like it one time, and she remembered it, and—the scar was just a part of her. It was technically damage, but it was also a mark of, of recovery, and—and she still didn’t know what his expression was. He wasn’t exactly smiling, his mouth a soft, neutral line, but his eyes crinkled at the corners, crows feet those were called, and she had no doubt he disdained the wrinkles, but they had a nice look to them and—

“You don’t need to look like Jeralt; you are formidable in your own right,” he said, and it was so—something, she thought, sincere. For a wild second, she thought—maybe she liked it, Lorenz being sincere, maybe she liked—liked it so much she didn’t know what to do with it, and so she laughed—in his face, oops—and the sound was a little wild and a little lost, but it was a living sound, louder than the murmurs of the dead, and—Lorenz touched her face again, guided her head down so she was resting on her shoulder. She was crying, a little. Again. 

Leonie was all over the place, and she probably _should_ eat something if the weakness in her blood was anything to go by. She tightened her grip on Lorenz’s shirt, felt the good, sturdy material and the substance of the body beneath, and when she could breathe without it hitching, she squeezed him, just to feel the warmth and weight of him, and leaned back. He let her go, but his hands stayed on her arms, just beneath the elbows, and the shape of them was comfortable and warm.

“Something to eat?” she suggested. He smiled, and he surprised her—but not entirely—by leaning in and hugging her again, and then he was on his feet and tugging her up.

“I don’t know what to say except that I am thrilled to hear you say that, isn’t that funny,” he said. And she smiled because it was, and she cleaned her face and he helped her fix her hair—as if she cared about her hair, but she let him, so—and they stepped back into the monastery and went to scare up a bite to eat.


	16. after elmsford

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She was kneeling in a courtyard facing what felt like a mountain of rubble. She’d been here for hours, but she’d hardly made a dent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *climbs out of bog* I live! And I'm glad you're here <3  
> Thanks to voicefullofmoney who beta'ed half this chapter :D

They didn’t send Leonie or the Fourteenth out again. They could have; none of her troops were hurt worse than a little magic could fix. Admittedly, only a week had passed, and the Fourteenth _did_ deserve to rest, but—no one even mentioned their next posting. Leonie would have worried her troops were being punished, but then they were quietly reassigned to help the Knights of Seiros with their duties around the monastery. That’s when Leonie figured it out. Oh. Well. Okay. She supposed being relieved of command without fanfare or castigation was something to be glad of, but it was still—well anyway. It didn’t matter. Thistle got bundled back into Marianne’s network. Good. It was good that Thistle had useful work to do, that he could keep earning his way in the world.

For her part, Leonie got pulled into meetings to talk about terrain and routes and whatnot. She was more useful when it came to the Alliance and Eastern Faerghus, obviously, but they didn’t really need much help with that. For the other stuff, for the Empire and western Faerghus, she did her best. It was… scary to suggest a route and be congratulated and not actually _know_ if it would work. Her suggestions could only be as good as their maps, and Seteth and Flayn’s maps were _good,_ , better than anything she’d seen before, but—well. If they were as accurate for the Empire as they were for the Alliance, it should be okay. Leonie hoped it would be okay.

Anyway, that’s what Leonie did, after Elmsford. Looked at maps and pointed to places and spoke about things she had no knowledge of.

“I thought I might find you here,” Lorenz said lightly. Leonie looked up from where she was clearing rubble, dragged the back of her hand across her brow. “Have you already eaten?”

“Not since breakfast,” she admitted. He tsk’ed at her. “Are they even still serving food?” She was pretty sure the noon bells had long since rung.

“They’ll have something for you,” Lorenz said, which meant no. Leonie wondered what was the fastest way to make him go away, realized what she was thinking, and stopped. 

She was kneeling in a courtyard facing what felt like a mountain of rubble. She’d been here for hours, but she’d hardly made a dent. The sun shone down hard, and the sky was a deceptively soft blue as clouds massed to the north. They’d be getting rain tonight or tomorrow. She wiped her brow and was surprised when her shoulders complained. They weren’t used to this sort of work.

“What’re you up to?” she asked. She had sweated through her shirt, and there was grit on her face and in her hair. In spite of the twinges of her muscles—her hands too, and her back—the pile really, really looked the same. Figured. 

“Trying to get my friend to eat something,” Lorenz said. His tone was light but there was an edge there. Leonie looked again at her worksite, then at the sky. Finally, she looked at Lorenz again. He was still there, just looking at her. He offered her a hand up. Leonie reached out instinctively but hesitated. Her hands were grimy and she stank. He waggled his hand at her. She pushed herself to her feet, tried not to sway too much at the rush of blood. Whoops. Lorenz was right, she needed food and something to drink. He guided her to the relative cool of the dining hall.

They were both right. The kitchen wasn’t actually serving food any more, but they still had something left. Instead of staying in the shadows of the hall, they wandered out again with the food. Leonie felt a little better after she ate, and then she and Lorenz had a strategy meeting in the main meeting room upstairs. When that was done, they stopped by Lorenz’s room so he could drop off his notes and things, and then they stopped by Leonie’s to do the same. She was aware of Lorenz looking around her room.

“Why haven’t you unpacked?” he asked. Ugh. She didn’t want to unpack and try to get comfortable only to have to repack and move on. “It doesn’t bother you, to be living out of one bag?” he pressed. She wasn’t, technically, living out of her one pack. There were papers on the desk, for one thing, and sheets on the bed. It wasn’t like she was camping on the floor. She shrugged. “It really doesn’t bother you? Surely it’s less comfortable and convenient this way.” Lorenz’s voice was getting that tone Leonie remembered, the one where he was getting twisted up over something for no reason. She reached for the words to explain.

“I’ll just have to repack again,” and what was even the point.

“We’re going to be here for a few weeks, barring unforeseen events,” Lorenz offered. Leonie stopped and looked at him. He was hovering in the center of her room, attentive and anxious. Looked exhausting. Something in Leonie softened. It didn’t actually matter if she was packed or unpacked, and if he cared so much then she might as well. 

“Fine,” she said. Before she could lose her direction, she grabbed her bag and dumped it out on the bed. There, now she would have to deal with her shit. Among the other detritus of her life, there was a small objected bundled in one of her old kerchiefs. Huh, that thing. She picked it up and unwrapped it, revealing—

“My comb,” Lorenz said in surprised tones. Then he turned red and covered his mouth.

“… Yeah,” Leonie said eventually, rather than, for example _your_ comb? Sure, his comb. That had been the idea when she’d bought it, all those years ago. She held it out to him. He withdrew like it was dangerous, stared at it like it was precious. What even. Leonie waited, but he only relaxed a little, not flinching away from it but not taking it either. Her arms, still sore from the morning’s work, started to complain. “Lorenz, I’ve been carrying this thing around for who knows how long. Take it.” He kept _staring._ She shook it at him, saw how his eyes tracked its motion.

“Lorenz,” she tried again. “Do you want the comb?” This was apparently the wrong question to ask. He managed to go redder, opened and closed his mouth a few times. Okay. “Should I throw it away?” she asked instead.

“ _No,_ ” he said immediately. Well. That was a reaction. Okay.

“Okay,” she said, “Then take the comb,” and offered it to him again. Leonie ached in her arms and shoulders and deeper, and tiredness was dragging at her bones. Lorenz stared for a long moment, uncertainty chasing itself across his face. 

He took it, finally.

Leonie was probably not imagining the way his fingers almost shook as he reached for it. They definitely shook as he cradled it in his hands, traced careful fingers over the decorations. The expression on his face was too complicated for her to decode, but it was almost famil—oh, _reverent._ He was holding the thing like it was more than a useful object, like it had meaning beyond its ordinary use. She—didn’t know what to do with that. 

Of course he looked up at at her then, when she was mentally off balance. The expression on his face—the, the reverence—didn’t go away, but it changed into something—warmer, hotter. She felt her own expression change—a smile—and somehow wasn’t surprised when he pulled her into a hug. Leonie had been the recipient of many hugs in her life, and it was easy and natural to lean into this one, to let herself soften into something like a question mark. Lorenz was stiffer, holding himself separate, but when she ran a hand over his back to reassure him of his welcome, he curled himself into her. She threaded her fingers through his hair and let herself enjoy how fine and soft it was.

When they drew apart, Lorenz’s free hand came up to cup Leonie’s face. His long fingers were warm, and she watched him breathlessly as he traced her scar, brushed along her cheek, and ghosted, impossibly gently, across the fragile skin under her eye. 

He kissed her.

It was slow and soft, and either Lorenz was extremely hesitant (plausible) or he’d never done this before (also plausible). Leonie liked it. 

His mouth was soft and their noses bumped together, and she cradled the back of his head and set her hand on his jaw to guide him into something a little less careful and a little more warm. He went easily, following her lead. They deepened the kiss. She was smiling helplessly as they separated. He was flushed, and she trailed her fingers through his hair and tucked a strand behind his ear.

“Is this what we’re doing now?” was what came out of her mouth. Welp. Lorenz blushed harder but met her eyes.

“If it’s amenable,” he said, which was—she couldn’t help it; she laughed. It was such a Lorenz thing to say, and she drew him close, couldn’t stop smiling.

“Yeah,” she said, “I’d like that.” She watched the smile bloom across his face—still hesitant, but sincere—and kissed him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not to be That Guy but if you wanted to leave keysmashes & emoji in the comments, this would be a great time for it ;D


End file.
